


Shelter from the Storm

by Mypissedoffsandwich



Series: Shelter from the Storm [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky's arm Sucks, Depression, M/M, Mention of Child Abuse, Mention of infidelity (not Steve/Bucky), Minor Character Death, PTSD, Past Bucky Barnes/Jake Jensen, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, minor description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mypissedoffsandwich/pseuds/Mypissedoffsandwich
Summary: To lessen the pain from his wife's betrayal, Steve Rogers is headed as far from his problems as he can get. Though he'd reached the Oregon coast, he still felt broken, empty, and alone. When circumstances leave him stranded on the coast during a summer storm, he sought refuge with the local War vet, who was no haggard old man, but rather a handsome recluse with stormy past of his own. What was it about James Barnes that kept Steve from returning to wandering?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to thank my amazing artist [laufcysons](https://laufcysons.tumblr.com/).   
> I also want to thank all of the friends I've made during this challenge. You're all truly the bee's knees. Stay salty. Many thanks of course to my friend Cancerousmonkey for putting up with my freak outs, and for helping me out when my betas bailed or had to stop for a family emergency, you're wonderful.
> 
> And finally, after five very, very long months, I present to you:
> 
>  

Bucky stood frozen, startled by the movement of a small girl at the edge of his property. The girl stood mostly hidden behind a large tree at the edge of the dark forest that lined the small sunny field behind his home. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there watching him; he had the feeling it’d been for quite some time. If the girl hadn’t moved between trees to keep him within her line of sight as he moved through his garden, he doubted he would have ever noticed the girl's presence, military training be damned. Despite the crouch she was in, it was clear from the tensed muscles in her shoulders and legs that were he to indicate that he knew she was there, she would bolt into the forest. 

Rather than alerting her that he’d seen her, Bucky stood from his crouch to stretch before resuming his work picking as many of his tomatoes as he could carry in the small work wagon as he could before the dark clouds above opened and dumped upon them all the wind and rain it had been saving throughout the summer. Until this point, he’d gone about his work picking his vegetables with the single-minded focus he used while writing, explaining how the presence of the willowy, dark-haired child had gone unnoticed for so long. However, now that he knew she was watching, he was self-conscious and even more aware of the fact that he’d left his prosthetic on his dresser that morning. Sore shoulder or not, he should have worn it. 

As he continued his work, checking for ripeness and bruises on his vegetables as he harvested them, the girl continued to stare. It really didn’t surprise him; he was used to people gawking at his empty sleeve and long messy hair or the clunky metal prosthetic he wore whenever he visited the town. The arm made other adults leery of him, and had, in several instances, frightened small children with its skeletal fingers that twitched on their own. Yet this girl didn’t seem scared, more cautious of what he might do if she revealed her presence. It appeared as though she wanted to talk to him but was hesitant. It didn’t feel like she was hesitating at his missing left arm. 

Then again, he could be wrong. What the hell did he know anyway? It’s not like living out here in the boonies was doing fuck-all for his ability to socialize. His people skills were rusty at best, and nonexistent at worst. But he knew a bit about sadness, and about wanting to talk but feeling the words choke in his throat with anxiety over how the other person in the conversation might react. He really hadn’t had an actual conversation with anyone other than his sister or her husband in nearly a year. 

Bucky moved slowly, deliberately broadcasting his movements to the girl, moved closer. As he moved around his garden he swept a quick barely noticeable glance towards her. Her skinny frame draped in a dirty yellow dress maybe a few sizes too large, and her hair looked as though someone had tried to scrape it into a braid weeks ago and hadn’t done any upkeep on it. Despite her deep summer tan, he could see traces of dirt on her arms, legs, and even a smudge of it across the bridge of her nose. She looked maybe seven or eight at oldest. 

It was strange that he’d never seen the girl. It’s not like the town was large, and his home was situated a good distance outside of town as it was. The only way this girl would have the ability to get to this edge of his property would be if she lived in the home on the other side of the forest. Nobody lived there, did they? The house was quite ramshackle and the yard overgrown. Then again, Carley at the little grocers in town had mentioned once that an old hermit lived there. If that were the case, then he lived up to the title quite well considering Bucky had seen neither hide nor hair of the man since he had bought the property nearly three years ago. But this child clearly wasn’t an old hermit man, so who is she? Where is her family? Is she hungry? Lost? Hurt? 

Bucky shook his head. His sister Becca and even his old army unit had always called him a mother hen. He set the last tomato on the stalk in his wagon before wiping his hand on his jeans and moving to sit cross-legged on the ground facing the child. He sat with his palm resting face up on his knee, hopefully indicating that he was no threat to her. 

Her dark eyes widened in alarm as he stared. For a moment, she looked quite like a deer in the headlights, or like one of the small creatures he has often startled during his nightly runs. Then she rose into a half standing position, poised to run. Yet, she hesitated. When Bucky remained still, she dropped back into her crouch, shuffling further behind the tree trunk as she did. The girl stared wide-eyed for a moment more before he spoke gently. 

“Hi there. I’m Bucky, what’s your name sweetheart?” his voice sounded as though he’d been gargling gravel and it surprised him. It occurred to him that he hadn’t said a single word since his monthly supply run into town the week before. It was strange, he’d always been a talker before. His voice had been deep and clear since he was barely a teenager and now it was just as rusty as the rest of him. 

Rather than responding to his inquiry, the girl stood once more and watched him as she walked backward into the forest, before eventually turning and running where the shadows quickly enveloped her form. 

Bucky sighed before standing and brushing dirt from the seat of his jeans. The girl obviously hadn’t needed him. She was probably just curious about the one-armed man living so far out-of-town. It certainly hadn’t been the first time he’d gotten such attention, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

+++ 

Rain slammed against the windshield of Steve’s beat up old Beetle with enough force that his poor wipers barely had any hope of keeping up. The low visibility and dark waves crashing into the rocky cliffside only a single lane away joined to create a unique amount of tension that Steve associated with patrolling desert towns in Afghanistan. With each minute that passed, Steve became more and more regretful that he hadn’t thought ahead at the approaching holiday, and how it would affect his plans, making it difficult for him to find a hotel with any vacancies. He should have known that everywhere would be booked up over the fourth of July. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Honestly, the holiday — and, subsequently, his 30th birthday — hadn’t even registered in his mind. For the past eight or so months, the days and weeks had blurred together, creating a fog in his mind as he was barely able to even notice the changing of seasons. Weary now, he’d hoped that perhaps the west coast, with its blue-gray sky and even grayer ocean, would offer him some of the peace he’d left behind so many years ago. 

The Oregon coast was about as far from Brooklyn as he could go without leaving the mainland. However, this little beach town he’d found was even more densely populated than he’d thought it’d be when he had googled it. Honestly, had he known there would be this many people here, he would have waited to come. 

Except he’s here now, and he’s way too tired to continue driving for much longer, especially in this storm. And now he was stuck driving back roads on what is probably just a wild goose chase. But, it was his best, and only, choice if he wanted to find a place to sleep tonight. He certainly didn’t want to attempt to set up camp in this downpour, and parking his car along the roadside wasn’t safe at all with these curves and rain. Every single hotel, motel, inn, or bed-and-breakfast he’d passed had lit their No Vacancy signs and that was that. Though, considering the expensive bills and the sad state of his bank account, this was perhaps a blessing in disguise. 

Even more so was when he’d stopped to pick up a bit of food at the small grocers in town, where the tired looking checker had noticed his road weariness and guessed at his current problem immediately. She’d suggested that a ‘reclusive author’ that she knew might be willing to lend him use of a small cottage on the property for the night. 

“I live out that way, well not that far out, but I try to talk to him when he comes in every month or so,” the checker had told him. “I know he doesn’t rent it out, as he usually keeps to himself. He’s a nice man if a bit nervous from the war. He's always taking in stray cats and what not though; so, I expect he’ll probably be fine with helping you out, what with this storm we’re brewing up here,” the woman laughed as she rang up his purchases. She raised her hands to her wide-set hips. “He’s got an account here, so we’ve got his number. If you’d like, I can give him a call?” 

A nervous recluse and a war vet who took in strays? He was probably some old coot with about fifty cats on the property and a hidden bunker or something, Steve mused. But what choice did he really have? 

“Sure, why not?” Steve responded with a shrug of his shoulders. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get shot for knocking on the man’s door in this weather. 

“Hey, Cheryl, cover me for a minute, will you? I’ve gotta make a call out to the Barnes place.” 

A perky young blonde wearing a cropped shirt that barely brushed her high-waisted jeans came up behind the woman. 

“Sure thing, Ethel.” The young woman gave Steve a smile and a long assessing look that could have been friendly, but came out looking more… inviting. He smiled tightly in response, not that the girl deserved it, he’d had no proof that she was actually flirting; just a hunch. His recent experiences had made him leery of the possibly inviting looks he’d received in the recent months. Though he couldn’t understand why, he hadn’t shaved in several days, his jeans could be considered threadbare at best, and his leather jacket was worn and scuffed with much use and little care over the last several months. Steve couldn’t comprehend how anyone found him attractive when he looked like this. Then again, looking at all the current Hollywood actors, perhaps the homeless, bad boy image was what they liked. Best to just avoid the possible advances in any case. He never wanted to relive the fiasco from a few months prior. 

Steve took a step backward and turned to face the large bay window at the front of the store. Large droplets fell against the glass and gathered to run in streams towards the already glistening pavement. A strike of lightning slashed across the sky, branding an angry streak into the inky blackness and outlining the looming profile of a mountain not too far off. The mood could only be considered ominous and depressing, which seemed befitting of his current trip. He’d made this journey in hopes of finding some peace and perhaps even healing; something vastly different from his service in the army and subsequent divorce from Sharon upon his return home. 

Yet, he’d just continued to feel lost, just as empty, and just as broken as he had eight months earlier when he’d put his final signature on the divorce papers. At first, he’d snapped dozens of photos a day, however, as time wore on he’d taken fewer and fewer pictures. He hadn’t had to transfer the images to his cloud in nearly three weeks. 

Where did he go from here? The answer had been elusive and had filled him with despair each time he asked himself this. Despair that swept in and crashed through him like waves against the rocky cliffsides of this godforsaken place. 

“Looks like the phone’s out over at the Barnes place,” the older woman’s voice cut through his wandering thoughts, bringing him back to reality. He was glad for the interruption as it gave him a good enough reason to push the tough questions for another day. “But you can go ahead and drive on out there, he’ll be home.” 

“How far is this place?” 

“Fourteen, maybe fifteen miles?” 

His spirits took another dive. The last thing he wanted to do was drive another fifteen miles in this storm. 

“You’re sure there isn’t anything nearer?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer. 

“No hon, I’m sorry, every place is all filled up. A lot of people come out from the valley over the Fourth, and they make reservations months in advance. There’s not a campsite or a room to be had anywhere along this coast this weekend. You can trust me on that dear.” 

He didn’t need to take her word for it, he’d seen the No Vacancy signs himself for the last three towns along the coast. And, really, he supposed he should be grateful she’d had any solution at all, even if it was a recluse’s guest house. Despite his ma’s teaching, gratitude didn’t come easily for him anymore. Or at all, really. And wouldn’t that just make Sarah Rogers roll in her grave? 

He bit his cheek and pulled the words from somewhere inside his body. “Okay, thank you. Can you tell me how to get there, please?” 

A few minutes later, he stepped into the heavy downpour and made a mad dash for his car, bag of food in one hand and hastily scribbled directions in the other. Now after nearly twenty minutes of white-knuckled driving along the dark winding roads, he figured he must be getting close. And though his stomach rumbled at him, his meal sat untouched in the passenger seat. Navigating the unknown roads, already soaked from the downpour, required his full attention. More so as he approached his destination; especially now that the road had narrowed to a single lane, yellow dividing line disappearing entirely. 

The woman from the store had warned him to look for a red mailbox with a sign beneath it that said Winter Court Road. Of course, up until this point he’d seen very few mailboxes, and none that matched the woman's description. Of course, he might have missed it. His headlights could barely illuminate the asphalt five feet in front of his car, let alone one of the small side roads that branched off occasionally. And he wasn’t about to turn back and retrace his steps. Worst case, he’d drive until he found a large enough shoulder to pull over onto and recline his seat until he could sleep somewhat peacefully. He thought that, in some ways, that might be a preferable option over some hermit’s guest house anyway. In fact, the more he considered it, the more appealing it was beginning to sound… and oh, if that isn’t just such a place he can pull off just ahead. 

Just as he began to speed up to get to the shoulder quicker, a deer darted in front of the car, no more than a flash across his headlights. Shocked, Steve slammed on his brakes and yanked the wheel to the left, car dying and skidding to a stop just before hitting the railing that acted as a flimsy barrier from a flooded ravine that ran along the road. He stared at the turbulent, dark water. Waiting for the pounding of his heart to calm, he drew a shuddering breath. Talk about close calls. He might not be overly excited about life, but even he didn’t want it to end in a drainage ditch. 

When his pulse finally slowed and he allowed his head to raise from where he’d lain it on the steering wheel, his eyes widened in surprise. A few feet in front of him, on the other side of the road was a faded red mailbox with an old peeling sign below it. And sure enough, the faded letters stated that he’d reached Winter Court Road. If his headlights hadn’t been slanted towards it just right, he’d have missed it entirely. 

Once upon a time, Steve might have attributed such a coincidence to fate. Now, he considered it good luck. Or bad, as it were. It all depended on what he found at the end of this old gravel lane, he amended. But he was cold and weary to his bones, and at least the steep, tiny byway that wound away from the main road and into the forest potentially offering shelter from the storm. At this point, he didn’t even care about eccentric hermit men and their ninety stray cats. All he cared about was a protected place to wait out this storm. So, pushing the clutch to the floor, he restarted the old car and drove towards his would be shelter. 

+++ 

At first, Bucky didn’t notice the rhythmic thumping that accompanied the unrelenting rumble of not-so-distant thunder and the steady sound of rain hitting the roof. But when the thumping became pounding, he realized that there must be someone at the door. An incredibly impatient person, if the increasingly aggressive pounding was any indication. 

Considering how rarely he got visitors, Bucky could only stare at the door dumbfounded. Natasha from his publishing house had stopped by last week, but nobody had stepped foot on his property since. Not accounting for the little girl from earlier, considering she’d hardly count as a visitor in the first place since she’d stayed along the edge and within the tree line. Very unlike whoever was pounding on his door, making it clear that contacting him was their sole intent. 

Another crash of thunder tore through the dark house, and Bucky jerked at the sound as though it was another roadside bomb, the light from his flashlight bounced across the opposite wall as it clattered to the floor at his feet. Without electricity, the warm, inviting home he’d made for himself was dark and cold, furniture casting eerie shadows across the floor and walls. He’d placed several lit candles around the living room and dining room, yet their flickering glow did nothing to dispel the discomfort he felt, or make him feel as though he was safe where he was. 

This sense of unease and anxiety was nothing new. He dealt with it even without the thunder. However, he’d never once in his three years here thought he’d be unsafe in his home, not even during storms like these. And yet, with the pounding on the door and the crackling of lightning across the sky and the continuous rumble of thunder, he felt unsafe now; that perhaps this other person was somehow connected to the group that had held him for so many months. Of course, this would be a legitimate reason to be afraid. But, he reasoned, if they were up to no good, why would they bother to knock on his door? 

Despite his concern beginning to abate, Bucky still grabbed the Walther from the hall table as he walked to the door. He paused to look out the sheer curtains that covered the large bay window by the door. The visitor was mostly hidden by the porch columns, but he could see the rain blurred outlines of a vehicle pulled up right by the steps. He raised the gun before using the barrel of it to flip the deadbolt, still trying to think of some reason anyone in their right mind would drive all the way out here in this godforsaken weather. When he couldn’t think of a single reason, he adjusted angle at which he held the gun, quickly flipping the lock on the door handle. 

He took a deep breath, about to turn the knob and raise the gun again when the pounding started once more. “Hey! If you can hear me in there, please answer the door!” 

A man’s voice. A very irritated man’s voice by the sounds of it. Bucky tightened his grip on his gun. Perhaps he just shouldn’t answer, then the man would just assume he was gone and then leave. Holding his breath, he leaned closer to the door, listening for the sound of retreating footsteps. 

Rather than the sound of retreating footsteps, he heard an exasperated sigh, so loud it was audible even over the sound of the storm. “Look, a lady at the grocery store in town said you might let me rent your guest house for the night,” the man called out. “She tried to phone you, but your line must be down. I really need a place to stay, everywhere in town is already taken.” 

Bucky could hear how tired the man sounded, like he was a man at the end of his rope. It was a tone that only someone who’d been there themselves would ever catch onto beneath all the frustration. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before walking to the hall table to grab the keys and drop his gun. When he returned to the door he cracked it open only a small amount, just enough to catch a glimpse of the man on the other side. The man warily stepped away from the door as it opened. 

“Hey,” his voice crackled again with disuse. A few moments passed as the two stood studying each other with obvious mistrust and wariness between them. It was clear that this man had had some form of military training from the way he assessed the threat that Bucky might pose. Despite the man’s jacket, the rain had soaked his shirt, causing it to stick to his broad chest. His shaggy hair flopped onto his forehead and his beard was thick and unkempt as though the man hadn’t really made a conscious decision to grow it out. All in all, he looked very much like Bucky had when he first returned. 

The man set off alarms inside of Bucky's head, making him shift closer to the door minutely. But the man had noticed and his eyes narrowed. Bucky braced his feet in case he charged and tried to force his way in. 

The tension radiating from the man inside the house was palpable, and Steve knew he had only a few moments to ease the man before he either slammed the door or shot him. He really didn’t want to spend the night in his car, or even worse dying at some random house in the sticks. Especially not when he was so very close to being able to sleep under a real roof and in a dry bed. Not that he could fault the man for his caution or his alarm. Considering the remote location, he was wise to be careful. And it’s not exactly like he still looked like the all-American boy next door he had been in high school. His growth spurt in junior year and his military service had added muscle and height, making him a large and imposing man, even when he was dry and clean-shaven. 

As for what the other man looked like, he had no idea. Though his eyes had adjusted to the dark, all he could make out of the man from the small opening was a shadowy figure with somewhat longer hair that looked as though it was just passed his shoulders. Not that the guy’s appearance really mattered. The important thing was that this man could provide shelter… if he played his cards right, that is. Hoping the guy wasn’t too spooked — he probably had a little PTSD himself and so he understood the need to feel safe — Steve put his hands in his pockets and took another step backward, trying to convey to the man that he wasn’t here as a threat. 

“Like I said before, a woman in town — Ethel? — said that there was a guest house on your property that might be available for the night,” he tried his best to sound like it was a conversation rather than a desperate plea. “Everywhere is all booked up for the weekend and there really aren’t too many places along the road wide enough to park my car to get out of the storm for the night. She tried to call, but your phone seems to be out…and it’s gettin’ bad out here.” 

As if to reiterate the point, the sky opened to reveal a jagged flash of lightning, making both men flinch with surprise at the thunder that followed. The rain began to come down harder, in what seemed like a continuous sheet of water, the wind sweeping it over the railing and onto the covered porch. Yet he remained standing where he was, even though moving even a step forward would give him better protection from the wind and rain. 

The idea of this stranger being on his property was disconcerting, but Bucky saw no recourse. And he certainly couldn’t send this man back into the storm; it’d go against everything he’d ever been taught by his ma and pastor. Though he didn’t really take much stock in the teachings of Catholicism anymore, he was still leery of mistreating anyone, especially after all he’s done. Besides, the guest house was all the way on the other end of the field, it’s not like the man was staying here. Still, he hesitated at handing over the keys. 

When the man at the door hadn’t reacted, Steve tried again. “Look, I know you don’t rent it out. The woman in town was clear enough on that, but could you maybe make an exception for the night? I can pay whatever you think is fair. The storm is really bad, and I don’t do so well with thunder as it is.” He thought perhaps it might garner a bit more sympathy, and it’s not like it was a lie — thunder did make him nervous. 

Bucky stared at him for a moment more before nodding. “No…. I mean yes, you can stay there for the night. But I won’t charge you nothing.” He uncurled his hand from the door knob to pass over the keys he’d grabbed when he first heard the man on the other side of the door. 

Surprised by the man's sudden acquiescence, Steve stared at the man's outstretched hand for a moment letting his good luck sink in. The tension in his shoulders began to ease as he took a small step forward to take the keys. The man who lived here might be eccentric, but he was kind, which was such a rarity these days. The man cleared his throat. 

“The cabin is about a hundred and fifty yards west on the far side of the field, off the driveway. It’s old and a little rundown, but there's running water. There's an overgrown gravel track that leads you right to it. If you need-” As their fingers brushed, Bucky’s words trailed off. The man's hands were like glaciers! He clearly hadn’t been here long if he hadn’t known the nights, especially stormy ones, could get ice cold. He cleared his throat and took back his hand. “There’s a portable propane heater in the bedroom out there if you get cold.” 

“Thanks. Are there any candles out there?” 

“Yeah, there should be a few in the table next to the door,” he turned away briefly, then his hand returned briefly through the doorway. He held a large floodlight like flashlight. “Here, this should hold ya over until you find the candles. I expect the electricity will be back on in the morning.” 

The man’s voice seemed strange to Steve. It was deep and slightly accented, but he was easy to understand. Despite the gravel, the man’s voice was not harsh, nor was it something he’d expected from an older man. He sounded young, but not so young that he hadn’t experienced the harsher side of life. Curiosity over his temporary landlord threatened his need for shelter; however, shelter won in the end. Besides, it was clear to him that the man wasn’t going to step beyond the threshold to give Steve more than a shadowy silhouette. 

“Thank you again. I’ll be fine.” 

As he took the flashlight and turned back to face the gravel drive, he sensed the man’s eyes on him. Making sure, perhaps, that he followed his directions and was on his way. And that was fine by him. He’d much rather have someone intent on his departure than one who… 

His thoughts flashed to Sharon Carter. Blonde, attractive, and as lethal as a snake. Steve’s mouth settled into a thin line as he settled back into his Beetle. He’d never known hate until she’d swept in like a hurricane, leaving anger and hurt in her destructive path. He’d never known how much all-consuming rage he could even feel until her betrayal. 

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as a crash of thunder boomed through the air, his headlights doing their absolute best to cut across the dark field. The wind and rain beating at his vehicle in a pounding beat as he struggled to stay on the narrow track, and find his way through the inky black though all forces of nature seemed to urge him to give up his mission. 

But Steve knew he was close to his destination, that if he held out just a little bit more he’d find a refuge from the storm. 

He only wished he could find the same for the storm that had been raging within him since he’d gotten off that damned plane in the desert. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't noise that roused Steve from sleep the next morning, rather, the culprit was a cheerful sunbeam that danced across his face until he was forced to wake up. He stayed laying prone on the bed for a few moments, taking stock of the surrounding area – a habit ingrained in him through years of military training. What wasn't routine, however, was the sense of peace he felt for the first time in years. It enveloped him, like a freshly lain downy comforter, still warm from the dryer. A sense of calm had washed over him sometime during the night, replacing the restlessness that had taken over his life for more months than he ever wanted to admit. The question, however, was why? 

He replayed everything from the past forty-eight hours. He was in Honey Cove, in the hermit man's guest house where he'd stayed to get out of last night's raging storm. A storm that had now moved out to sea, if the sunlight streaming in through the dusty windows were any indication. His current location didn't seem to offer forth the answers he sought. Though no answers were to be found, this sense of peace was a salve on his burnt-out heart and soul. Rather than analyzing it, he decided that he'd enjoy it while it lasted. Because this calm wouldn't last long. 

Throwing back the comforter on the full bed that was crammed into the small, plainly decorated bedroom, Steve sat up and stretched his arms, hoping that it helped to relieve some of the stiffness from too many hours spent driving. He examined the room in the morning light; there wasn't more than a single painting hung on the wall, a small night stand with a single book lying atop it, and a small chair sat in the corner that was currently holding Steve's shirt and jeans from the previous evening. Standing, Steve made a full body stretch before walking silently into the main area of the guest house. It was a combination of a living and eating area, furnished with only the bare minimum of furniture. A tiny kitchen tucked into the corner with a small breakfast bar that separated it from a door leading to what had to be the smallest full bathroom that he'd ever seen. This wasn't quite the Hilton, but it was a hell of a lot better than some of the places he'd slept. 

Cleanliness was an entirely different story though. When he bent to pick up his duffel from the floor, then dropped it onto the old couch in the main living area, a large puff of dust rose into the air, causing a coughing fit that reminded him of the beginnings of the asthma attacks he'd had as a child. The hermit man may be generous, but his housekeeping skills left something to be desired. 

Half an hour later, however, warmed by a shower and clean clothing, Steve took a better look around his temporary lodging and reassessed. While the guest house was furnished, it didn't seem like the sort of place that really needed any housekeeping as it looked as though several years had passed since anyone had lived there. It seemed to be more of a storage shed than anything else these days. Several empty totes were stacked in the corner of the kitchen next to the breakfast bar that still held the garbage from the previous night's dinner. A stack of boxes labeled ‘Kitchen Misc.' in a swirling cursive stood in a pile next to the couch. Next to that was a box overflowing with handwritten papers and notebooks, curling and browning with dust and age. The cursive here looking thicker and less swooping than what had been used on the boxes. Another held a small box with several novels by a J.B. Barnes. Barnes was what the lady had said in the grocery store. Perhaps this was a family home, and the previous tenant had been a writer. Steve pulled a book from the box and turned it over. These books were so new that the spines had not even been cracked yet. He placed the book back into its place before turning away. 

Steve's stomach rumbled and cramped with pangs of hunger, reminding him that his eating habits as of late had been dicey, at best, and equivalent to MRE's at worst. His appetite had vanished along with everything else in his life once he'd returned to the states. These days he really only became aware of his need for food when a meal was long overdue and his body began trying to eat itself in protestation. And considering he'd only had a cheap deli sandwich and a bottle of Gatorade the day before, the hollow pain in his abdomen wasn't all that surprising to him. 

A quick glance in the cupboard yielded nothing edible, just as he had figured. Why would someone stock food in an unused guest house with food anyways? He'd been lucky to even find a dry place to rest. Crossing his arms over his chest, he wandered over to the front window that looked over the field between the main and guest houses. The small two-story home looked far tidier than his own humble abode, and a lush, well-tended garden sat along its base. Apart from a missing piece of dark blue wooden siding on the second floor – storm damage, he assumed – it seemed to be well maintained and in perfect condition. 

As though to confirm his theory, a figure in dark clothing walked into view carrying a ladder awkwardly in its right arm. From this distance, it was difficult to determine anything about the figure. Though whoever it was, was struggling quite a bit with the ladder. Was it the hermit? He thought. However, when the ladder was turned and propped against the home with expert precision he dismissed the thought that it'd be the older man. Perhaps it was a family member? Though he'd gotten the impression that the man lived on his own. So, if it was the hermit, the man seemed to be incredibly agile in the handyman role despite being an old soldier. 

Another rumble from his stomach reminded him that he really needed to make a trip back into town to scrounge up food. But his mind nagged at him, this man had given him shelter – at no charge. The very least he could do was repay the man's kindness by taking care of the siding issue. His stepdad and the army had instilled him with decent handyman and carpentry skills, and a job like that would probably take him all of fifteen minutes. It maybe wasn't how he'd planned to spend the morning, but it was definitely the right thing to do. 

Ignoring his stomach, he slid into his jacket and stepped out into the freezing, coastal air. As he navigated the narrow gravel trail he'd driven down the night before the world seemed new. The still dew-damp grass and leaves dripping water from the cool air, and the bird song that filled the forest around the property. It was beautiful, and his hands itched to draw in a way that they hadn't in nearly a year. 

Steve hastened his pace as the hermit man began to hammer the siding back into place. The discordant pounding of the hammer against the loose siding broke whatever peace he'd had in that moment, and all he wanted was for it to be over soon so that he could return to the peace and quiet that had filled his head only moments before. 

+++ 

Bucky was so intent on his task that he didn't notice his guests approach at first. Though, eventually, the shift of gravel as the guest came nearer gave him ample enough warning that he wasn't surprised by the man's appearance at the bottom of the latter" 

"I'd be happy to help you with that." Bucky startled at the man's words. The sudden shift causing his arm to glitch enough to drop the hammer had the man been less alert it would have fallen directly onto the guest's upturned face. Instead of taking a hammer to the face, he managed to move back just in time for it to land next to his foot. 

Warmth flooded to Bucky's face in embarrassment at having nearly injured this man. He ducked his head into the collar of his jacket and stared down at the man. In the light of the morning, this stranger presence was even more disconcerting than it had been the night before. The man was large – much larger than he'd seemed the night before when he must have been hunched into himself against the cold. The stranger was also undoubtedly handsome, even the threadbare clothing and scraggly beard did nothing to detract from his good looks. Close to forty, he estimated, though he couldn't tell if the lines on the man's face were because of age or weariness. As he raked his fingers through his hair, Bucky realized that it was much lighter now that it was dry. A deep golden, sun-streaked blonde. His azure eyes were quite striking in the daylight, though there was a dullness there that spoke of defeat. Right now, however, they regarded him with a weariness that suggested the man thought Bucky had dropped the hammer on purpose. 

"Sorry. You startled me." He set the record straight. Bucky had promised himself he'd never hurt anyone again, and it wouldn't do to have dropped a hammer on this man's head; even accidentally. 

The tension in the man's face and shoulders eased a bit. "I'm the one who should be saying sorry. Why don't you let me take care of that for you?" 

"Thanks, but I got it." Bucky tugged his sleeve down to cover more of his prosthetic. 

"I owe you for last night. Besides, I did some carpentry work in college, so a job like that won't take me more than fifteen minutes. Piece of cake." 

The man didn't seem inclined to budge. But Bucky was used to handling the maintenance on his own. He'd learned how to position the hand of his prosthetic just right to hold everything. He didn't need this guy's help. Then again, despite all the rehabbing he'd done on his home in the last few years, he wasn't all that fond of mixing ladders and his prosthetic. As if he'd sensed Bucky's indecision, the man grasped the ladder to steady it on the mud softened ground. 

"I'm sure you've got more to worry about than storm damage. Come on down and let me take care of it." 

Capitulating seemed the quickest way to end the whole conversation, and once he was back on the ground he could make a fast break for the house, Bucky reasoned. With a decisive nod, he began to climb down in silence. 

Once back on solid earth, he stuck both hands into his pockets and ducking further into his jacket collar. The man before him was quite large, despite being the same height, this man held himself with the imposing presence of a man much larger. "Thanks, I do have some things that need to be attended to inside the house," he murmured. 

As he turned to go, a capricious gust of wind snatched the old ballcap from his head, tossing it into the sky. Surprised, Bucky turned and instinctively threw out his left hand in an attempt to grab it back, but it was already out of his immediate reach and had hit the ground again a few feet away. Before he could move to pick it up, the other man had already bent to retrieve it. 

"Looks like the wind…" the words faded from Steve's lips as he stared at the home's owner, stunned. Up to this point, he'd given Steve no more than a shadowed glimpse of his countenance. Now, though his face remained in profile, he realized that the old hermit man he'd expected couldn't actually be any older than thirty-five, at most. Sun lightened strands in his wavy, deep brown hair glinted in the morning sun, calling attention to the long hair that had tumbled from beneath the hat when the wind stole it. The man brushed the fallen hair from his face revealing wide, dark gray eyes, and below that a sharp square jawline that belonged on a statue. If the voice didn't match the man from last night, Steve never would have believed this to be the crazy cat hoarding hermit the storekeeper in Honey Cove had described. 

Yet there was a different quality about him. He kept his body averted to hide his left side. Why? 

Curious, he brushed off the hat and held it out to the man, shifting to the right – forcing the man to angle his left side towards him as he leaned forward to grab for it. That move bought him only a quick glimpse of his face and arm. One that shocked him to the very core of his being. 

The features he'd admired as something akin to artwork in profile, was marred by a large angry-looking scar that ran from his hairline, down below his jaw, and into his jacket collar. And the hand that reached to grab the hat seemed little more than a metal claw with rubber caps on the tips. 

Before he could hide his shock, the other man straightened. Gathering his hair back into his hat he jammed it back onto his head, staring at him in silent challenge for several beats of silence. Then his expression shifted in some subtle, yet disturbing way. It was as though something in him had shattered. Not in the dramatic way, like a glass might when falling to the ground. It was more like the network of fine cracks spread across the surface of an old vase after the protective glaze becomes crazed. 

Whatever it was, Steve didn't have a chance to analyze it because he turned with an abrupt move and nearly ran towards the back of his house. As he disappeared around the corner, his hurried footsteps sounded across a wooden surface before a door was audibly opened – and closed. 

At one time in his life, Steve had been good at dealing with distraught people. They'd sought him out during his army days for his compassion, his understanding, and above all his acceptance. It appeared as though those skills had deserted him today. He'd gawked at the man, stared at him as though he was some freak in a sideshow. He'd been rude, tactless, inconsiderate, thoughtless…. a real asshole; and at any other time if he had caught someone else doing that he would have immediately gotten into their face. Of all people, he had no right to act this way. He had plenty of scars, they just weren't visible. And if they were, he's sure they'd be just as, if not more disfiguring. How would he like it if they drew the same look that he'd just given this man? 

The short answer was, he wouldn't. 

An even bigger question was, how did he go about making amends with this man? 

It had been a long time since Steve had interacted with anyone long enough to worry about hurting their feelings. And even longer than that, that he'd even cared if he did or not. Yet for whatever reason, this man, who he didn't even know anything about beyond the name ‘Barnes', had breached through the defenses he'd built around his heart. Perhaps because he seemed so alone and isolated from the world. Not just in geography, but as though he lived in this world but was completely separate. 

For the past two years, Steve had felt as alone as he'd thought a person could feel. Angry and lost, he'd turned his back on a world and a wife that had betrayed him. Yet he had a feeling that this man, living in this isolated place away from society, was even lonelier than he was. He could sense, at some intuitive level, that this man had accepted his solitary existence, knowing that his physical scars would never heal, shunning a world that looked at him with a morbid curiosity and pity – much as he had just done only a few moments before. 

That was the difference between them, he mused. When Steve had set out on this trek, he'd hoped his travels would help him to pick up the pieces and start over. Though it hadn't happened yet, deep inside he held on to the hope it eventually would. Most days, that hope was the only thing that kept him going. The idea that he would spend the rest of his life in a vacuum devoid of all the things that had once allowed him to enjoy life was far too terrifying to contemplate. Yet he had the feeling that the man inside the house didn't have that same hope. But how in the world did he continue, day after day, without it? 

He wasn't his problem, of course. He was only passing through, a stranger who knew nothing about the resident other than his last name and that he'd served in the military. And given his reticence, he doubted whether he'd learn anything more about the man. He ought to just forget about him. 

Yet, as he picked up the hammer, climbed the ladder and set to work on the errant piece of siding, he felt the need to apologize. Trouble was, he didn't have a single clue as to how he could do that without calling more attention to the man's scar and the fact that he was missing an arm, and making the entire situation worse than it already was. 

Years ago, when his mother was still alive and before he'd joined the army, he would have prayed for guidance in a situation like this. But he felt like that wasn't an option for a man like him anymore. Instead, all Steve had to rely on were his own instincts. And considering how they'd failed him for the past two years, he didn't think they were up to the task of rectifying this situation. 

But as an image of the man's shattered expression flashed once again to the forefront of his mind, he knew he at least had to try to fix things. 

+++ 

Inside the house, Bucky stirred the simmering pot of soup he'd started at the crack of dawn, struggling to control his breathing. Calm down! he admonished himself fiercely, pushing back at the rising wave of anxiety that threatened to overflow. He could feel stress tears begin to prickle at the back of his eyes. He took a deep breath and swiped at his eyes. It's as his sister, Becca, used to say; he'd already cried enough tears to sail a ship. Too bad she wasn't here now though. Becca, in her steadfast, no-nonsense way had been his rock when he'd returned home – his only solace in a world that had been knocked down and spun on its head. She'd been there for him a lot during the months after he was found, through the surgeries and treatments, the rehab, and his anchor when he woke the house each night screaming in terror and grief. If it hadn't been for his younger sister, Bucky was sure he'd have given it all up ages ago, and let himself be consumed by his loss until his inevitable self-destruction. 

He tried to imagine what Becca would say if she were here right now. "Get a grip," most definitely. He'd no doubt point out that the man's shock had been a rather normal, human reaction, and that he probably didn't intend to hurt him. And that once he got to know Bucky, he'd forget all about the fact that he had one arm and a huge scar on his face. 

Yeah, fucking right Rebecca Proctor. 

Becca meant well, but Bucky knew better than her about these things. Oh, sure people tried to act nonchalant once their initial shock had passed. But they were never quite comfortable around him, unable to get past the scars and the prosthetic his sister convinced him he'd want. And while he was grateful for it now, he could do without the obvious aversion. Even after three years here he could still see the discomfort on the townsfolk whenever he went into town to run errands. And it's not that the people in town were rude, in fact, they were quite nice. But they made it a point to be too nice, at least until he left. 

It's just how it is, and how it would always be for him. Bucky had accepted this fate, and thought he'd learned to deal with it with as little hurt as possible. These days he didn't feel much more than a twinge in his chest whenever people stared at him. It had been a very long time since anyone had managed to set him off this easily, he'd nearly started stress crying. He didn't even cry watching RENT anymore. Yet this man, a stranger who would slip from his life just as quickly as he had slipped in, had managed to awaken emotional reactions he'd long thought buried. And he had no idea how or why. 

Yeah, you do, a little voice at the back of his mind whispered. 

Startled, he stopped stirring the soup and grasped the edge of the counter with his hand, attempting to suppress the answer that came bubbling to the surface as much as the herbs in his soup pot were doing. But the little voice wouldn't be quieted. 

Because he's something new. 

It was the truth and one that Bucky couldn't dispute. His tenant's reaction had startled him because he was new. Though the man was scruffy for sure, and not a man he'd have taken more than a glance at, but, he was also handsome. His expression of shock, horror, pity, and revulsion had clarified for him, that even if he'd ever harbored any secret hopes otherwise, no one could ever look at him again as someone desirable. 

Nevertheless, the strength of his response shook him. Bucky had thought that any romantic ideals had died when he came back. After all, he hadn't thought about love since the surgeries, at the very least not consciously. Yet, if the reaction of some unkempt stranger could reduce him to tears… 

Once again grabbing the spoon, Bucky resumed stirring the pot with vigor. This was just an aberration. Brought on by too little sleep due to the storm combined with his usual shitty sleep schedule, he rationalized to himself. As soon as he finished repairing the siding, the man would be gone. Peace would once again descend on his world. He’d have a small breakfast, pay a few bills he’d been ignoring, then spend the next couple of hours writing on his newest book. The remainder of his day would just be a typical, quiet day. The kind he’d always enjoyed. 

Except, for whatever reason, thinking about his solitary plans didn’t help lift his spirits whatsoever. Instead, he found the plans to be quite… depressing. 

+++ 

The aromas wafting out through the kitchen window and into the garden were driving him mad. 

As Steve banged the final nail into the siding, his salivary glands went crazy. Chicken soup. That’s what it smelled like, Homemade chicken soup. The kind his mother used to make him when he was just a sickly child, it’s enticing aroma greeting him home from every stint in the hospital. To this day, that smell always managed to evoke memories of his childhood, love, and safety. 

Too bad he’d fucked up that conversation with his landlord this morning, Steve thought, finding yet another reason to curse his rudeness. He’d love to have even a small taste of whatever was cooking in that pot. But given the other man’s reaction to his insensitive gawking, the odds of that becoming reality were slim to none. Even after the apology he still planned to offer, 

Once he double-checked the board to ensure it was secure, Steve descended the ladder, then headed toward the front door and knocked. As he waited for an answer, he tried to think of how to frame his apology. But when he cracked the door open, Steve hadn’t yet found the words. 

“I’m just finished. Where d’ya want the ladder?” 

“Just leave it. I’ll put it away later.” He started to close the door. 

“I’d rather finish the job. And that includes putting away all the tools.” 

Hesitating, Bucky gave him an uncertain look. “There’s a shed around the opposite side of the house. It goes in there.” 

Before Steve could say another word, the door was clicking shut. 

So much for the apology, he thought with a slightly bitter note, as he headed around the house, located the surprisingly well-equipped toolshed and slid the ladder into a slot between two shelves. Someone around here knew tools. And since the man at the house seemed to be the property’s sole occupant, it must be him. Impressive considering the prosthetic. 

When he stepped outside, a curtain fluttered at the back window. The man was keeping tabs on him, it seemed. Not that he blamed him, especially if he was a vet like the lady in the grocery had said. For all this guy knew, he was some derelict who was up to no good. What really surprised him, was his own reaction. It bothered him that he might be considered dangerous or unsavory; hadn’t he joined the military to protect people in the first place? In light of the fact that for the past couple of years he hadn’t given a damn what others thought of him, his reaction was odd. But, for whatever reason, he didn’t want this man to think I’ll of him – or to regret his kindness to a stranger. All of which brought him right back to his apology. It was time. 

Combing his fingers through his too-long hair in a futile effort to tidy it, he strode toward the house, stepped onto the small back patio and knocked on that door. 

When the homeowner eased it open, the delicious aroma that wafted out nearly did him in. But he straightened his shoulders and did his best to focus on the reason he’d even come to the door, rather than the pleas of his stomach. 

“I’ll be headin’ out now, sir. I wanted to say thank you again for your kindness last night. I don’t know what-” A flicker of movement across the field caught his eye, and he turned to get a better look, just as a small girl darted behind a tree. “Looks like you’ve got a visitor.” 

Curious, Bucky opened the door wider, enough to peer in the direction Steve was looking. “Where?” 

“Over there, just behind the tree line. A little girl. She moved behind the tree when she saw me lookin’. She a friend of yours?” 

Leaning farther out Bucky scanned the edge of the forest. It was the same place that he had spotted the little girl before. “I dunno who she is, actually. I only saw her for the first time yesterday afternoon.” 

He continued to look towards the trees as Steve shifted his gaze back at him. He still wore the ball cap, but his hair was let down this time. He could see the concern etched across the other man’s face, hidden as it was. 

“Maybe she’ll come back out once I leave.” 

“Nah, it isn’t you holding her back. She ran off when I tried to talk to her yesterday, too.” his attention remained on the far side of the field. 

This was the time, Steve thought, taking a deep breath. “Before I go, I’d like to apologize for my staring earlier. It was rude of me to do it, and I’m real sorry if I upset you by it.” 

Startled, Bucky turned back to him. And then did a double take. The man was doing something that no one outside his family – and his doctors – had ever done. He was looking right at his scar and arm, without flinching, without skittering past it. He didn’t try to ignore it as most people did. instead, he traced it from where he could begin to see it from beneath the hat’s brim, all the way to where it disappeared into Bucky’s shirt collar. He wanted to turn away, wanted to hide his face. But there was a compelling expression in his eyes that held Bucky motionless. 

“I also want you to know that I’m sorry for whatever happened to cause that.” His voice was gentle, his eyes kind. “I’m sorry for whatever trauma you’ve had to endure since, and if I added to your pain in any way, I ask for your forgiveness.” 

The man’s direct approach, along with his sincere remorse, left Bucky completely speechless. Not only was the man looking at the scar, he was talking about it! He hadn’t the faintest idea on how to respond to this man. 

When the silence between them lengthened, Steve shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Well, I had better be on my way. I wonder if you could point me in the direction of the nearest place to get some breakfast?” 

Food. the man was asking about food. It took a few moments for Bucky to gather his thoughts, but when he finally did it occurred to him that the man must be starving. He’d had no dinner that Bucky had been aware of, and there wasn’t a dry cracker to be found at the guest house. He started to open his mouth to give directions to Siletz, the nearest town with a diner, when that persistent little voice in the back of his mind spoke again. 

You could feed him. 

Again, though he tried to ignore it, he met with very little success. The man had fixed had fixed the siding, after all. And from the looks of him, he could use a good mean. His jeans sat low on his lean hips, too low even with how narrow his waist was. Bucky was almost certain that it wasn’t a fashion statement. Rather, he suspected that the man’s thinned frame was the result of far too many missed meals. Bucky could see where the man had once had a thicker musculature, but, was now lean. It wouldn’t cause any harm to give the man a meal before sending him on his way. It was the hospitable thing to do. 

Besides, there was something about this man that drew him in, that made him want to find out more about what made him tick. To discover why this stranger seemed to have the ability to look past the scarring, and see him as human rather than some result of human cruelty. And if giving the man a meal would buy him a bit of time to do just that, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Taking a step backward until he hovered more in the shadows of the doorway, the fingers of his prosthetic holding onto the door. “I can give you some breakfast.” 

Now it was Steve’s turn to be shocked. The very last thing he’d expected from this man was an invitation to dine. But if the aromas that continued to make their way through the doorway were any indication of his culinary abilities, he was in for a treat. That alone would compel him to accept the offer. 

Beyond that, though, he knew that this invitation meant that his apology had been accepted. And that fact, even more than the thought of a satisfying meal, lightened his heart. 

“Thank you, I’d like that very much.” Steve smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way. 

“Come back in twenty minutes. I’ll have it ready by then.” 

As Bucky shut the door, cutting himself off from the man on the other side, he drew in a long shaky breath. Already he was having second thoughts. Why on earth had he impulsively offered the man, a stranger, breakfast? This could be a huge mistake. One he might come to regret even more. 

Yet even as that dire warning flashed across his mind, in his heart he felt like he’d somehow made the right decision. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

What the hell was he going to feed the man? 

Hands braced on the refrigerator door, Bucky scanned its contents. Too bad he hadn’t gone into Honey Cove two days ago, like he’d planned, to stock up on perishables. He was down to his last couple of eggs, and there were no breakfast meats of any kind. Well, there wasn’t much of anything really. At one time, before he’d gone off to war, he’d enjoyed cooking. But solo meals held little appeal and cooking large meals single-handed held even less. These days he mostly got by on cold cereal, sandwiches, and whatever fruits or vegetables he could grow in his garden. Homemade soup was the extent of his journey into the culinary arts, and he usually made enough to freeze so he’d always have a bit on hand, like the chicken-and-dumpling soup that sat simmering on his stove top now. Though his soups were often praised by those he’d fed it to, it wasn’t something to be served as breakfast. Nor would it be filling enough for this man who’d clearly missed more than a few meals. 

Shutting the refrigerator door, he turned his attention to the small pantry that acted as a divider between the kitchen and the dining area. At least he had all the basics on hand – flour, sugar, salt, herbs, and spices. When a small bottle of maple syrup – left from his sister’s last visit – caught his eye, he thought of the blueberries he’d picked the year before at the peak of sweetness, carefully preserved in his freezer. Blueberry pancakes! Provided the man didn’t have an allergy, it was perfect. 

In no time at all, Bucky was mixing a batch of batter. Though he very seldom made pancakes these days, the recipe stayed sharp in his mind. Becca had loved them so much as a child, and they were simple, so whenever his parents left him to care for her while they worked late he would make them. 

His hand slowed. Funny. He hadn’t thought about that since in months. Hadn’t let himself think about the times before the army. It always led to him comparing himself to the man he had been before, and often it just became too painful to remember. And now really wasn’t the time to start, he scolded himself, resuming his mixing taking care to keep the batter from his prosthetic. That would be a bitch to clean out. 

Once the batter was ready, and he’d poured out three generously sized circles onto the griddle, Bucky set a single place at the small table sitting on his back porch, adding a mug of coffee before returning to the house to flip the fluffy cakes. When his unexpected guest reappeared at the far side of the field, he moved the pancakes onto a plate. After adding butter and a light dusting of confectioners’ sugar, he tilted the maple syrup that had been warming on the stove into a small liquid measuring cup and arranged everything on the table. By the time the man arrived, Bucky was already back inside opening a small can of cat food at the sink where he could catch a glimpse of the other man from the small kitchen window in front of him. 

In the past hour, the morning had warmed up quite a bit, and the east facing back porch was flooded with warm sunlight as Steve ascended the steps. In spite of his growling stomach, he stopped when he saw the carefully set table, food already waiting for him. It had been a long time since someone other than a fast-food worker or a short-order cook had prepared a meal for him. And even longer since anyone had cared to provide him with any of the niceties of dining. Like a cloth napkin, with sharp folds. Or even a placemat. Or the cushion that he knew had been added since his earlier visit. Not even to mention the small glass of water that held a few of the wildflowers he’d seen a lot of in the field, that sat in the center of the table. 

All of these small touches registered quickly as Steve scanned the small patio table. So, did the singular place setting. Rather than any of the carefully set table, the plate of large delicious looking pancakes was what held Steve’s attention. Seriously, who was this guy, and why did he not work in a restaurant or something. This all looked amazing. 

“Go ahead and eat before they get cold.” a gruff voice said from behind Steve, with only a short glance at the open window he began to move forward. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

“Thanks.” he said as he sat himself at the small wrought iron table. He immediately dove in, using liberal amounts of syrup and washing down the light and fluffy cakes with careful swigs of warm black coffee. Within minutes, the plate sat empty. 

“Would you like some more?” 

Looking up, Steve saw his host hovering in the doorway, a small gray cat weaving its way through his legs. A smile tried to lift the edges of his mouth, but it resisted the unfamiliar tug, as stiff as a paint brush left unused and dirty. “Do I look that hungry?” he asked sheepishly. 

“You could probably handle another serving.” 

“You’re right. Thank you very much.” 

While Steve waited for his host to return, Steve sipped his coffee slowly, noting that the little girl from earlier had come back, though she remained hidden in the copse of trees that lined the opposite side of the field. When the man returned only a few minutes later with another overflowing plate and a pot of coffee on a platter and hesitated at the back door, he figured the man had wanted Steve to come and get the food. Allowing him to remain in the shadows of the house. Instead, he inclined his head towards the woods. “Your friend is still here.” 

That caught the man’s attention. Adjusting his grip on the platter slightly, he pushed through the door. As he focused on the far side of the field, he gave Steve a shaded view of his profile. “I don’t see her.” 

“She was there only a moment ago. I have the feeling that she’s probably been watching your home for some time.” 

Frowning he deposited the platter on the edge of the table, placing the plate in front of Steve before using the coffee pot to refill his mug, all the while keeping an eye on the property’s edge. “When I saw her yesterday, she didn’t look too well cared for. Might even be hungry. If I had a chance to coax her closer, I’m sure I could find out. Or at least determine if she’s okay. I used to be great with children.” 

The concern this man held for the little girl had overridden this man’s reluctance to being seen and practically bowled over any self-consciousness that had been so present earlier. Steve marveled over the difference as he caught a glimpse at the charismatic man he must have once been. 

However, that window into his past closed the second he realized Steve had been watching him. Turning on his heel abruptly, he picked up his platter and started back towards the house. 

“Aren’t you going to have any?” 

His question must have surprised his host because he stopped as abruptly as he had begun and had half turned back slightly to look at Steve. “I don’t eat much breakfast.” 

Steve was surprised. Not that the man was overweight by any means, but, now that he’d ditched the large jacket, there was no question that this man was healthy and strong. The man was broad-shouldered and bulky, but only enough to accentuate his classic good looks. A soft, worn-looking Henley clung to the man’s arm and chest like a second skin. 

It had been a long while since Steve had found anyone attractive, and even longer since he’d taken in such a detailed view of anyone besides Sharon. He flexed his hands minutely in an attempt to stave off the desire to draw this man. He wasn’t sure what had brought about this desire, but he wasn’t going to analyze it either. Probably best to move on to a better – safer topic, he mused. 

“Well, if you won’t join me, then please at least let me introduce myself.” He stood and extended forward his right hand to his host. “My name is Steve Rogers.” 

He wasn’t quite certain how the other man would respond to his slightly abrupt introduction, but after a brief pause, he leaned forward to grasp Steve’s hand in a firm handshake, stepping around the table slightly as he did so. “James Barnes.” 

As the stranger shook Bucky’s hand, Bucky was captivated by the man’s bright blue eyes as they shone in the early morning light. They seemed sad but also capable of burrowing into his heart and seeing things that Bucky had never voiced to anyone. Of course, such thoughts were only the workings of an overactive imagination, something he prided himself on most days, he chided himself. The sudden shrill ringing of his phone broke the spell, he reclaimed his hand and turned back towards the door. “You’d best eat those while they’re warm. Something’s taste just as fine cold, but pancakes aren’t one of ‘em.” 

Hurrying towards the phone, Bucky left the door ajar – to let out the cats – rather than closing and locking it as he had done previously. Something about Steve told him that he had nothing to fear from him. That despite the obvious military bearing and large size, this man had also suffered in such a way that he too was scarred just as deep, even if they weren’t physical. Bucky’s emotions were a completely other story, but this man had already disrupted them, and it isn’t like a thin wooden door could protect him from that sort of danger in any case. He was a bit out of breath as he answered his phone – something that his ever-observant sister caught on to immediately. 

“Is everything alright? Did I catch you at a bad time?” Becca inquired. 

“No, no. I’m fine, Becca. I was outside.” 

“At this time of day? You’re always eating your toast and editing whatever chapter you’ve been writing.” her tone betraying that she found it suspicious that he wasn’t. He couldn’t even deny her accusations of predictability. Becca called him every Saturday morning at nine-thirty on the dot, and like clockwork, Bucky would be reading through that week’s work. Except, today he’d forgotten to print his work and eat his toast. He’d even forgotten Becca’s call – thanks to one Steve Rogers, now sitting on his back porch, happily devouring the blueberry pancakes that Bucky had made for him. 

“We had a storm last night and a piece of siding got torn off the side of the house in the wind,” Bucky said distractedly, watching Steve from the corner of his eye. 

“I hope you weren’t climbing around on ladders.” 

“It’s not like I have much of a choice when the problem is on the second story.” he sighed slightly. He already knew exactly what she’d say. 

“Bucky! It’s dangerous, even with the prosthetic! Look, I know you’re good at it and all, but can’t you just get someone to fix it for you?” 

“It’s already been done, Becca.” 

“Figures.” She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Ya’know I oughta send my husband out there to take a few lessons from you. Rob is a wonderful husband and father, but when it comes to being able to fix things around the house he’s as useless as a cell phone with a dead battery. You musta been up with the sun.” 

Before he could respond, the back-screen door opened and Steve came far enough inside to deposit his plate on the counter, before retreating to the porch, screen door banging lightly behind him. 

“Bucky? What was that?” her concern clear in her voice. Typical Becca, never missed a goddamned thing. He thought with a small shake of his head. 

“It was just the back door, everything is fine.” 

“What? Who came in? Are you sure everything is fine?” 

“I promise Bec, everything is fine. Look, it’s kinda a long story.” 

“That’s fine by me, I’ve got all day. James is with Rob at his parents’ house, and I haven’t got work.” 

“It’s not even a big deal, Becca.” 

“Then why’re you avoiding the question Bucky?” shaking his head, Bucky heaved a large resigned sigh. 

“Anyone ever say you were pushy?” 

“Uh, Yeah you. All the time. Since I was four. But hey, ain’t that what baby sisters are for? Now spill. You’ve got a visitor, and this doesn’t happen every day, I wanna hear all about it.” Knowing she wouldn’t waver until she was given the information she wanted, Bucky gave her a short rundown of the previous night and that morning’s events. 

“I let a guy use the guest house last night. Ms. Ethel sent him from town ‘cause there isn’t a room to be had over the holiday, and it was mad pouring outside. Turns out he’s a carpenter or something and he offered to fix the siding for me. I gave him breakfast on the back porch as a thank-you. He was only bringing in his empty plate.” Silence greeted him as he finished his brief story. When the silence continued further, Bucky spoke again. “Becca? Are you still there?” 

“Yeah Buck, I’m here. You took in a boarder? And you’re lettin’ him wander around your house?” 

“He’s not a border, he was here for only last night. And he’s not wandering around my house, he’s on the back patio.” 

“Who is this guy?” 

“Dunno.” 

“What’s he look like?” 

“Why’s it matter?” 

“Just answer the question, Bucky.” 

“I don’t know.” He turned slightly to get a better look out the screen door. Steve was standing by the railing sipping his coffee, his strong profile thrown into sharp relief. Bucky could see his broad shoulders and regal looking face more clearly. Angling himself away from the door, he lowered his voice just enough that he hoped wouldn’t be heard. “He’s a little scruffy around the edges and a bit road weary. But he looks like a good man.” 

“How old is he?” 

“What is this Becca? The third degree?” 

“Look, when some rando shows up on my brother’s doorstep – my brother who avoids people like they have the black plague – and he lets them wander around his house, I’ve got reason to be concerned! So, how old is he?” Letting his sister's remark about avoiding people pass, Bucky answered the question. 

“Late thirty’s, fortyish, maybe.” Another few beats of silence passed between them. 

“I’m not sure I like this, Buck. I love it out at Winter Court, but it’s all very isolated. I worry about you all the way out there, alone.” 

“I’m fine, Becca. I was only being a good Samaritan, besides it’s not like I wasn’t in the army, I can take care of myself. And even if I couldn’t it’d be fine. He’s been very polite and grateful. Besides he’s leaving in a few minutes. That's it. End of story.” 

“Hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced at all. “Call me after he leaves, okay?” 

“Rebecca.” 

“James. Just call me, alright? Otherwise, I’ll worry about you. More than usual.” 

“Fine, I’ll call. Now, onto more important matters. Like your visit in two weeks. I can’t wait to see you and James.” 

“We’re looking forward to it, too. James won’t talk about anything else. It’s Uncle Bucky this and Uncle Bucky that, and can we collect shells at the beach again and go watch the sea lions and climb the big sand dunes, over and over and over.” 

“Tell him that we can do all of those things. Now, to logistics.” As they worked through the details, Bucky realized he was just as excited about their annual summer visit as his sister and nephew were. As much as he loved his life on his little space of land, it did get lonely sometimes. More so at sometimes than others. 

Turning towards the porch again, his gaze sought Steve once more. He stood with his back to him now as he looked out towards the mountains just visible over the line of forest. In a few minutes, he’d be gone, just as he’d told Becca. And though he knew nothing about this guy, even though his visit had been brief, Bucky had the oddest feeling that his departure would become one of those “more so” times. 

*** 

Only bits of one-sided conversation drifted through the open door to Steve. But he had heard enough to know that James was discussing plans with some woman named Becca for a visit soon. And that comforted him a bit. It meant that there was someone out there who cared for this man and gave him the occasional reprieve from his solitary existence. 

He drew in a long, deep breath of the now late morning air, enjoying the smell of the trees and the slight taste of salt coming from the nearby coastline. To his immense surprise, the peace he’d woken up with was still washed over him like the heat from a fire on a cold winter’s day. He’d expected it to dissipate with the cool morning fog that had hung over the field earlier this morning. It was a welcome feeling after so long, he was loath to drive away and risk leaving it in the dust the gravel would no doubt kick behind him. But he really had no excuse to stay. The grocer in Honey Cove had specifically said that James didn’t rent out his guest home. And it’s not like he had much money to pay for rent for very long, anyway. 

Yet, he desperately wished to stay. For a day or two at the very least. Just long enough, hopefully, for the peace to settle and soothe his soul and give him a chance to figure out where he went from here. His finances could handle a short extension to his visit. The real problem would be convincing James to let him stay. 

When James stepped through the door again, Steve’s mug was nearly empty. “Sorry for the interruption. D’ya want any more coffee?” he offered, remaining some distance away despite the small size of the porch. 

“No, thanks. The breakfast was great. I haven’t had a meal like that in a long time.” 

He acknowledged the comment with a tilt of his head. “Thank you for fixing the siding.” 

“It was really the very least I could do after you took pity on me during the storm last night. I’m not sure what I’d’ve done had you not.” 

“Summer holidays are always crowded here, I doubt there’s a vacancy anywhere on this coast.” 

He’d just given Steve the perfect opening. His grip tightened around the mug minutely, as though he were trying to draw strength from the liquid’s warmth through the thick porcelain. He was tense, despite the calm and casual tone he was hoping he came across with. “I found that out the hard way.” He chuckled a little as though it was a joke. “Truth is though, I’d hoped to spend a few days here, but everything’ll be booked up for the next few days at least. The lady at the little market in town told me you don’t really rent out the guest house, but is there any way I could convince you to let me stay just a bit longer? Not free, of course. 

His request surprised and pleased Bucky. He wasn’t quite sure why, perhaps because his anti-social behavior and scarring hadn’t scared the man away. It’d be stupid of him to read anything personal into the request anyways. It was based on practicalities, after all. He had an empty guest house; he needed someplace to stay that wasn’t some back road, and everywhere else on the coastline would be booked until at least the sixth, and it was only the second. It was simple and straightforward, something that under any other circumstance Bucky would appreciate. 

His spirits fell a bit. He must be more starved for human contact than he thought; if that was the case then he needed to figure something out to resolve it. Because he didn’t see any changes for his singular existence happening anytime soon. And even if Steve were to extend his stay, he’d be gone in just a few days. Perhaps he should get another cat. James would love to have another to play with on their visit just a few weeks more than when Steve would depart. 

In the meantime, this man needed a place to stay and Bucky had a place for him. There was no logic behind refusing the man his request. 

“You can use the guest house, there isn’t anything in there anyways.” He agreed before he began to clear the table of the rest of its setting. 

“Just let me know what you think is a fair price.” 

“I’m not gonna charge you for it. It’s not like there's anything special about it, you’re really only getting the bare minimum of things out there.” 

“It’s much better than camping, which is what I do most of the time. I even pay for those sites, I wouldn’t feel comfortable staying for free.” 

Straightening, Bucky gave him a deadpan look. “I don’t need the money, Mr. Rogers.” 

“Steve, please. And that’s beside the point. I prefer to pay my way.” 

From the stubborn set to his jaw and the resolution in his eyes, Bucky could see that his guest wasn’t about to budge on this point. Shrugging, he continued to place everything on the serving tray. “The thing is, you don’t have to. Let me think for a moment.” he was silent as he lifted the tray with his right arm, his prosthetic coming up to provide a bit more balance. And when he said a number, Steve’s frown deepened. 

“You couldn’t even get a roach motel for that rate,” he protested. 

“There’s clearly something wrong with this picture. Isn’t it supposed to be the buyer who is trying to bargain for a lower price, not higher.” Bucky smiled the way he used to when he’d go out with friends. 

A wide answering smile rested on Steve’s lips. “I only want to be fair.” 

“Considering I originally offered it free of charge, I think it’s more than a fair price.” 

His point was hard to argue with, given that it was the truth. With a gesture of capitulation, he gave in. “Then I gratefully accept.” he took the last swig of coffee and placed it on the tray that James held out to him. “I think I’ll go out exploring then, stock up on some provisions. Thank you again, James.” 

“If you’re staying, then, I suppose you should call me Bucky.” 

“Then thank you, Bucky.” With a nod, he turned and wandered out across the field. As Bucky watched him fade into the distance, focusing on his broad back and wide shoulders, he tried to figure out what he’d been thinking when he had agreed to rent the guest house to what equated to a total stranger. Considering how much he enjoyed his privacy, guarding it like a dragon guarding its hoard, it was something out of character for him to do. He should be sending Steve away, not inviting him to stay on his property. It made no sense to him why he’d do this. 

And if he couldn’t explain why he’d done it to himself, how would he even begin to tell Becca? 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

The place was a pigsty. 

Bucky could feel the heat creeping up his chest into his neck and cheeks as he surveyed the cluttered and dusty main room of the little home Steve had stayed in the previous night. Dust coated every surface, deep enough that he could write in, bits of cardboard littered the floor, and the layer of dust had mixed with the windows moisture leaving behind a thick grime that blocked any possibility of natural light. On top of that, the house smelled stale, like clothing that had been lost to the back of a dark closet for several months, most of the lamp bulbs were burnt out, and several spiders had managed to build elaborate webs in the corners. 

Yet, not only did Steve want to pay to stay here, he thought it was a bargain. 

Steve may not, but Bucky knew better. They place was better suited as his makeshift storage unit as a place safe for people to sleep. It had, at one time, been quite nice. Bucky had spent almost his entire first year living in this little house as he worked to rebuild what had been an old worn down main house. Since moving over to said main house, he’d let the maintenance and cleanliness of this building fall to the wayside. However, now that someone was going to be staying here, and paying for it, then he ought to catch up on things. 

Unsure how long Steve would be away, Bucky knew he had to move fast. He swept, mopped, and scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom, remade the bed with fresh linens, and washed the grime from all the windows. Afterward, he packed everything neatly away into their boxes and grabbed his boxes of books to shove into his car for the short trip through the field to the main house. Finally, He left a note stuck to the refrigerator door, directing Steve to look inside. 

Finished, he took a step back to look at the small living area, looking to see if he’d missed any dirt or debris during the last few hours of intense cleaning. Everything shined and the musty smell had been replaced with the citrusy scent of the lemon pine sol he’d used. With a nod in satisfaction, he shut the door and began to shove the boxes of things into the back of his truck and head back to the house. 

As he made the short drive back to the main house, he couldn’t think of anything beyond what Steve might think about how clean the temporary lodging now was, and hoped that the cleanliness would be well received. After all, he was insistent upon paying, the very least he could do in exchange for that would be to clean the place up. 

*** 

For a moment, Steve was confused and hoped he hadn’t wandered onto someone else's property and into their home. Opening the door, arms heavy with various grocery bags and freshly laundered clothes, he came to a sudden halt. The first thing he noticed was that the air smelt fresh and clean, the modest home was virtually spotless. 

There were no dust motes floating in the afternoon sun that shone through newly clean windows. Every bit of dirt had been swept from the floor, every surface shined as though it were freshly polished. All signs that everything had once been covered in grime and neglect, had dissipated. The home damn near glowed with how clean and polished everything was. 

Surprised, Steve took a slow turn and took inventory of the tiny cottage, similar to how he had just this morning. Deep burgundy curtains hung in crisp lines over immaculately clean windows. When he dropped his laundry bag onto the couch, no clouds of dust threatened to seize his lungs. A glance towards the bedroom revealed a bed neatly made with black sheets and hospital corners. The floors looked as though you could eat from them, and the kitchen was pristine. Completing his walk through in the small kitchenette, he spotted a note in the same thick cursive that had been in the notebooks from before. 

“Sorry about the mess from before, I put a container of soup into the fridge to make up for it.” 

Somehow, the fact that James – no, Bucky – had scrubbed this place clean after he’d left both left him shocked and yet unsurprised. But the soup, probably the very soup he’d been lamenting the lack of opportunity to eat just three hours before, was a welcome surprise. With barely contained eagerness, he quickly opened the refrigerator door. There sat a large plastic container full of soup, in an otherwise empty fridge. Though it was cooled, as he lifted the lid he could smell the wonderful aroma of the herbs vegetables that had been cooked in the broth. As he inhaled, memories of better times, of home and kisses to a fever hot forehead and sweet perfume, washed over him in a wave, for just a moment it seemed like a taste of his own personal heaven. 

Though the memories were quick to dissolve, it was soothing to Steve’s torn and tired heart. The brief memory of happiness, of love and family, was the first such moment he’d had since saying goodbye to Sharon before his last tour. Before his world had fallen and crumbled from beneath him. But if he could have even one moment like this, others just like it we sure to follow, he realized with a start. 

Strange. Just as his hope began to dwindle into nothing more than wispy fumes, this stranger had come in and given them a boost. With nothing more than a reluctant but kind heart and a container of soup. A man that had seen his own fair share of war and trauma, who’d already suffered from a terrible and devastating injury. A man who now lived so far removed from other people, alone with his – no doubt– painful memories as far as Steve could tell. A man who, despite choosing to live a solitary life, had extended a hand towards him in the moment he’d needed it. For the first time since he’d come home two years ago, Steve felt some semblance of happiness. 

Steve stood holding the soup, thinking of what had eventually brought him here. He’d tried to remain standing amidst the hurricane and fires that had raged both around and within him after he’d come home, but in the end, he’d finally been knocked over. Falling as the ink dried on the paperwork that had both signed his life away and ended his marriage to Sharon. He’d fallen into a hole of despair that had continued pulling him down as it had sucked the life from him, he’d been so shrouded in darkness by the end of the meetings that he’d never imagined there’d be a way out, and often wondered if this would be the end for him. 

But he’d survived his mother’s death, and he’d survived the army, albeit that too had left its scars across his heart. Surely, he could survive Sharon’s betrayal. But whenever she’d tried to be with him or discuss reconciliation, he’d felt ill with the anger that had swirled inside of him or he’d felt like he was being sucked further into the void she had once filled. 

He’d even prayed to a God he hadn’t believed in since his mother fell sick, and part of him still wanted to plead with this God that everyone was so sure of. Yet, here he was, still steeped in nothingness, God either non-existent, uncaring, or deaf to his pleas. 

The rift between who he was before stepping foot into his home after his tour and who he’d become afterward was wide and deep. As though at any moment he could fall from the edge, and keep falling until he disappeared entirely. Until today, Steve had felt as alone and scarred as Bucky was physically. 

But, just one day would not revert him to the man he’d been before this. He’d tried to good in this world, to make a difference. Fat lot of good that had done him. Despite being months into this road trip, and nearly three thousand miles from home in Brooklyn, he was still left searching for answers where there clearly weren’t any. 

For the past eight months, he’d driven through nearly every state, and yet nowhere along the line had he found even a sliver of an answer. Nor had he found a shred of peace. 

At least, not until he’d come here to Winter Court. 

When he’d walked across the field this morning, Steve had accredited his newly growing hope to the place itself. The calm morning mist drifting up from the nearby sea and in between the trees covering the expansive field and garden. There was something restful about the area, with its cobalt sea crashing rhythmically against the rocky shore and emerald forests. He’d never seen so much green in one area, only the harsh shock of color that was New York and the never-ending shades of brown that made up the desert. But it wasn’t just the place. 

It was also the man. 

Despite how brief their acquaintance had been, Steve had already been changed in ways he couldn’t necessarily understand. Though marred by tragedy, and sensitive about his scars and missing limb, he had a sort of serenity about him that Steve envied. As though he’d made peace with himself regarding the injury that had forever changed the world’s view of him. Considering the reclusive, not a hermit like Steve had thought, the kindness he’d shown a stranger at his door had been amazing – as well as humbling. He’d asked for nothing in return for his kindness. Rather, he had continued to give. 

Steve looked once more at the now clean guest quarters, drawing in a deep, contented breath. There was order here, something else he’d tried to regain and lost after returning from active duty. The room was filled with warmth from the sunlight that streamed through the windows, the aura of caring so dense in the air that he could feel it seeping through his skin and into his very bones. He felt good here. And right. Like this had been the place he’d needed to be all along, not wandering aimlessly through the rest of the continent. 

As the stood in the sunlit room, the sense of urgency, the need to run that had plagued him, pushing him further and further from home, washed away. He wasn’t quite sure why it did. After all, he still knew nothing. He still felt adrift in this endless void, no land in sight, at the mercy of the reckless ocean surf. But for the first time, he saw a light in the far-off distance as the boat moved with the cresting wave. That small glimmer of light was enough to give him hope, that at last, after so long, he’d be able to find his way. 

He had no doubts that the comforting aura that surrounded him was at least partially due to the smell of the chicken soup he still held in his hands. At the very least, it contributed to his continuing upbeat mood. But as Steve glanced out the window of the guest house and spied Bucky near his garden, he knew that he could claim the larger share of credit for the sudden lift in spirits. The man’s simple goodness had renewed and uplifted him, chasing away some of the despair and anger that swirled around and clung to him like clothing to skin after a heavy rainfall. And for that he was thankful. Securing the lid and placing the soup back into the refrigerator, he set out to thank Bucky once more. 

*** 

The kitten was in trouble. 

Dropping to his knees in the garden, Bucky stroked a gentle finger over the short downy fuzz that would, in time, give way to a sleek coat of fur as the kitten matured. But without immediate care, this kitten – probably abandoned due to its small size and the storm the night before – was destined to never reach adulthood. 

His expression softened in sympathy as the creature gave a pitiful cry, watching him with wide eyes, too weak to toddle off on its own. It’s breath coming fast, and heart thumping wildly in its small chest, each beat struggling to maintain life. It had always been difficult for Bucky to just let go of animals in need. Especially, helpless animals that could benefit from his care. Animal Care Centre his parents used to joke whenever he’d brought home another stray alley cat, he recalled with a pang in his heart. 

Tenderly scooping the tiny thing up with his right hand, he cradled the kitten to his chest, the thump of its heart strong enough still that he could feel its beat against his palm. It couldn’t be more than two weeks old, its eyes barely opened and its ears still sealed in some places. It was in dire need of warmth and nourishment. With care, though, he was certain that it would not only survive, but thrive. Having rescued more than his fair share of animals in his life, he knew that sometimes all a creature needed was a little TLC. That went for everything – including humans. 

Just as he began to stand up, movement in the tree line caught his eye. Even without turning, he knew that the little girl from before had returned. He also knew better than to allow the girl to know that he’d noticed her presence. If he wanted the girl’s trust, then it seemed like it would need to be in small, non-threatening actions. Much like how he’d befriended the children who had lived around the bases he’d been stationed at throughout his career. 

Angling his body towards the girl, he spoke loudly so that she could hear what he was saying, gaze not straying from the kitten in his arms. 

“Poor thing looks like this kitten was left behind. He’s such a little thing too! But his paws are very big for his size, perhaps it means he’ll be a very large cat. I’m sure I have some kitten milk left over. I wonder how it’ll look when it's fully grown, will it have long hair or short hair.” 

With every word Bucky spoke, he sensed the girl coming closer, curious but still wary of any possible danger. Cupping his prosthetic with his hand he was able to extend his arms forward, hoping that she would come further forward so that he could get a good look at her. The girl still wore the dress she’d worn the day before, the girl’s ragamuffin state had him concerned. Not to mention, he still had several questions for her – who was she, did she live near, did she have enough to eat. Before he could ask any questions, he had to make sure she knew he was no threat. 

Cautiously, the girl continued to step forward, until only a few feet separated them. Bucky continued to speak in a soft, soothing tone, directing his comments at the kitten. Though he did this, his words were meant more for his young visitor, hoping the reassuring words would help to put the girl at ease and help to make her comfortable around him. 

When the girl was just within arm’s reach, Bucky risked a quick glance up at the girl, holding forward his flesh hand that still held the tiny creature. “Would you like to see it?” 

The girl froze, panic flashing briefly across her round face. 

Smiling gently, he extended his arm a bit farther. “It’s alright if you take a look. He won’t hurt you.” And neither will I. 

Her wary eyes examined him, uncertain if he was telling the truth. He held his breath in hopes that the girl had heard between the lines. She took a small, tentative step closer. And then another. And… 

Just as she began to reach out to pet the kitten, her head jerked up and stared beyond him. Panic settling across her face, and before Bucky could respond to her panic she was off running towards the forest. Disappearing into its shadowed depths. 

Shoulders slumping in disappointment, Bucky turned back to see what had spooked his young guest – only to discover his other guest walking across the main field towards him. He was a somewhat formidable figure, he acknowledged. Although he seemed a bit underfed, he still cut an imposing figure with an obviously athletic build, and the aura of authority he exuded. Throw in the height advantage he had of the child, and the scruffy appearance, and he couldn’t fault the poor girl from being uneasy. Hell, he was intimidated by him too and they were the same size. Though, Steve Rogers made him uneasy for completely different reasons. 

In one lithe movement, he’d turned to face his approaching guest. 

“Sorry. It looks like I’ve chased off your visitor,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of Bucky. Planting his hands on his hips, he stared towards where the girl had run into the forest, his eyebrows creasing together. 

“It doesn’t take much. Skittish as some of the deer that sometimes wander into my garden. I thought I might catch his curiosity with this kitten and coax her a little closer.” 

The cap on his head cast shadows across his face, and when he dipped his head lower, his hair fell in a thick wavy curtain, hiding his face further. Looking down at Bucky’s slightly outstretched hands, he realized he was holding a tiny kitten, just barely old enough that its eyes had started to open. 

He took a few steps closer to get a better look. “Where’d you find him?” 

“Here in the garden.” Bucky gestured to a small covered area that in fall would probably act as a composter. He pulled the kitten in, cradling it to his chest, hoping some of his warmth managed to seep into the poor creature. “I need to get him inside, out of the wind. I’ve got some kitten milk to feed him as well.” 

Doubt clouded Steve’s features. “He’s pretty little. I don’t think his odds are too great. 

Bucky looked up at the other man sharply, a stubborn tilt to his jaw. “I don’t plan on giving up on him without a fight. Besides, I bet this little guy is gonna fight too. My record with kittens is pretty good after all.’ 

Without waiting for a response from Steve, Bucky set off for his back door. Steve quickly fell into step with him, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. 

Confused by the sudden laughter, Bucky stopped abruptly, staring at him. “What’s so funny?” 

A wry grin tugged at the corners of Steve’s mouth. “The woman in Honey Cove told me that you liked to take in strays, and I had this image in my mind of some crazy old war vet who’d shoot me and had dozens of cats just wandering around his house as they wanted. Not a younger man who rescues baby kittens. I guess that’s how wrong preconceptions of other people can be. 

For several seconds, he continued to look at him, expression solemn. “Well, you were wrong about the cats anyway. I only have three. And this is the third.” he struck off towards the house once again. 

His grin faded. He hadn’t meant it as an insult. It had been meant as a compliment, and instead, he’d upset him. Again. He quickly caught up again. 

“I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right, and I didn’t mean to offend you.” Bucky didn’t slow his pace any. Nor did he respond. “Look, the reason I came over was to thank you for all your work at the cottage. It doesn’t even look like the same place anymore, it was a nice thing to come back to. And the soup was a bonus. It brought back a lot of happy memories for me. My mom used to make chicken and dumplings, and back when things were a lot simpler, it had been the cure for all of life's problems. Just one bowl and the world was right again.” 

Bucky’s pace slowed, he looked down, gently scratching behind the kitten’s ears with a metal finger. “I wish it were that easy….” His voice almost too quiet to be heard, despite Steve’s proximity. 

They’d reached the stairs to the back porch, where he stopped as Bucky continued to ascend. There was so much meaning in such a small remark. A profound sense of hurt that washed over him at such a simple comment. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. His voice husky from the emotion startled Bucky from his thoughts. Steve cleared his throat and gestured to the kitten. “I could build you a box for its bed, or something.” 

Dipping his head, Bucky shielded his eyes from view. “That’s alright, I’ve got one from when I rescued Kotik. But thanks.” 

With that, he disappeared into the house and closed the door. 

Steve remained at the bottom of the steps for a few minutes after Bucky’s retreat, his expression thoughtful. The woman in the store had been right. Bucky did take in strays. He’d adopted and abandoned kitten, determined to nurse it back to health; He was trying to help the ragamuffin little girl that he didn’t know. And he’d given Steve a place to stay when he’d had nowhere else. But while he tended to all of his strays, who tended to him? 

Sticking his hands into his jacket pockets, Steve turned back towards the little guest house. His thoughts blinding him to the patches of flowers that grew all through the field, attempting to shake the storm from their petals and lift their faces once more to the skies. 

Nor did he see the man watching him leave from the upstairs window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

For the first couple of days, Steve didn’t wander far from Winter Court. He hiked a bit along the Triskelion State Park trails, took runs along a nearby beach, slept in late and prepared simple meals from what he’d bought at the little market at the reserve a few miles down the road. He was content just letting the peace and quiet of the place seep into his mind and body. 

He saw no more evidence of the girl from his first day, even during his walks along the perimeter of the property. Nor did he see very much of Bucky. He’d seen glimpses of him, either going in from tending the garden or once passing by an upstairs window late at night. Beyond that, there was no sign that anyone even existed at the main house. 

It was only when his groceries had run low did Steve consider another trip into town. In any case, he hadn’t spoken with his father in a few weeks, and there was no cell reception this far out. He’d left a message for him the day after the storm when he’d gone for groceries, but it had been cryptic. His father deserved more than that after all the man had both raised him after his mom had passed and been a rock of love and support that allowed Steve to ground himself while his world fell apart. 

As he left, he noticed his camera sitting hooked to his laptop charging. On impulse, he unplugged it and placed it in its case to bring with him. He hadn’t taken many photos since he’d been in Indiana, he hadn’t had any interest in it. However, this place made his hands itch. He wanted to draw it, to paint it, to photograph it. He wanted to do something to keep this sense of peace with him for long after he’d have to leave. 

He shut the door behind him, walking the short distance to his car. After he’d placed the camera securely on the passenger seat he moved to start the vehicle. The first attempt had the beat up old beetle stuttering weakly in its attempt at turning over. Believing he just hadn’t held the clutch far enough to the floor he pressed down harder, this time nothing happened, not even a single light on his dash flashed. Great. His battery was dead. 

Groaning, he rested his head against the steering wheel. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t exactly walk the fifteen or so miles into town for a new battery, not that he could afford one anyways. And you could only push your luck so far when staying on someone's property, and asking to borrow the man’s truck would definitely be overstepping boundaries with his temporary landlord. 

Perhaps he could ask the man for a jump? Then he could run his car for a few minutes to charge up the battery, and once in town, he could buy a new one. It was a perfect idea! 

Quickly removing his keys from the ignition, he once again stepped into the cool breeze rolling off the coastline. By the time he got to the front door of the house, he was fidgeting nervously. He hadn’t talked to his landlord since he’d put his foot in his mouth trying to thank the man. Hopefully, Bucky was both willing and able to help, or he’d be stuck. 

With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. He could hear some movement from the other side before the door cracked open to reveal Bucky barefooted in loose blue jeans, hair tied back messily, and dark circles under his eyes. Steve could see a leather strap over the too wide collar of his red t-shirt. ‘The strap must be what holds his prosthetic up’ he thought, surprised at himself for staring, again. 

“Can I help you?” Bucky asked lightly, his voice more graveled than it had been last time they spoke. 

“Sorry to bug you Mr. Barnes, but my battery’s dead, I was wondering, could you give me a jump?” 

“Uh... I guess? Do you got any cables? You’ll need to hook them up….” 

Fifteen minutes later saw both men standing next to the beetle as it sat idling. “Thanks, I really appreciate the help.” Steve thanked the other man as he waited for the battery to charge up. “I have no idea why it went dead. It worked fine to get me to the state park the other day.” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky said before turning back to the house, looking back only once as he walked through the door. 

Three hours later, after stocking up on necessities and wandering the town a bit, he found a nice little cafe that luckily offered free WIFI, and called his father through Skype. When his father picked up, Steve could see someone running a saw in the background. Seamus was getting older, gray streaking through his auburn hair, but he was still solid and hearty, dressed in his typical working attire of worn jeans and a solid colored cotton tee, a short graphite pencil stuck behind his right ear. 

“Hey Da, this a bad time?” 

“It’s never a bad time ta hear from ya, son.” The warmth in the man’s voice washed over Steve like a soothing balm. “I got your message the other night, but it was all staticky. You said you were in Honey Grove? But I thought ya were headin’ up north, not south.” 

Steve smiled at the confusion on his stepfather's face. “I’m in Honey Cove, Da. It’s just a tiny town on the Oregon coast. Real beautiful here, very green.” 

There was a moment of silence as Seamus O’Connor tried to remember how long it’d been since his son had mentioned or even noticed something beautiful. Certainly nothing in recent memory, at the very least. Perhaps this could be the turning point he’d been praying for since Steve had driven off after the papers were signed. Since Steve had come home to heal and only found more hurt that had only distorted and darkened his view of the world even further. Thank you, Lord, and thank you, Sarah, for watching over our boy, he whispered his thanks into the air as Steve spoke to a waitress that had come to take his order. 

“And just what is so special ‘bout this ‘Honey Cove’?” Seamus asked, nearly choking on the lump of emotion stuck in his throat. He hadn’t seen a smile like that on this boy’s face since his wedding day. 

“It’s…. quiet here. Peaceful. Not really like anywhere else I’ve been. It’s not empty, but it’s isolated, somewhere apart from the demands of society. Somewhere I can rest and make a fresh start.” Steve didn’t even bother mentioning the strange man that had taken him in. Nor, did he mention the even stranger draw he felt towards him. 

“Sounds like a fine place. Where’re ya stayin’ at? 

“There’s a little house that I'm sort of renting out. Not very many people around for miles. Just the forest and the ocean, and a few mountains not far off.” 

“Sounds like stayin’ there for a little while will do ya some good. You doin’ alright on money?” 

Leave it to his father to home in on an impending problem. “I’m doin’ alright at the moment. Might pick up some carpentry or painting work if I decide to stay much longer.” 

“Do you need me to send over a bit to hold you over, son?” 

“No, no, no Da. I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking though. How’re things? Looks like the company is busy.” 

“Can’t complain really. We’re building some kinda tower for Tony Stark in Manhattan right now.” 

That was his father's go-to response anytime Steve had ever asked how things were. He couldn’t remember a single time that Seamus O’Connor had ever griped or complained about something, even with his own share of troubles. His first wife dying far too young birthing a child that hadn’t even gotten a chance. His second wife having also died far too young, when Steve was only fifteen, of breast cancer that just hadn’t been caught quickly enough. All the challenges that came with raising a teenaged son by himself. Watching and caring for a father who lost more and more to Alzheimer's each day. Yet he’d never given up, or become disheartened. And Steve wished that he had followed in the man's footsteps, despite not being biologically related in any way. He wished that he’d learned from Seamus how to stand strong in the face of life’s storms without losing his footing. 

“I’ll call again soon,” Steve promised. “There isn’t any cell service out there, so I’ve gotta come into town to make any calls. I dunno if the guy that owns the house has WIFI, but if he does I’ll see if I can get a password and you can email me if you need to reach me.” 

“That’d be great, shoot me an email if you can. In the meantime, I’m gonna look up this Honey Cove, sounds like a place I’d wanna see someday.” 

“You’d love it here, Da. Probably lotsa fishing spots around, I bet.” 

“My kinda place for sure, then. You take care now, son.” 

*** 

Bucky didn’t know a single child that would, or even could pass up homemade cookies, especially homemade chocolate chip ones. 

He’d made some dough for them a few days back, and it had been sitting in a sealed container at the back of his fridge waiting for the young girl to appear at the forest's edge again. But the girl didn’t seem inclined to visit with Steve still around. 

However, he’d heard the crunch of gravel fading away barely an hour before, meaning Steve had probably gone out after getting a jump start this morning. He’d been watching the forest’s edge for that entire time from where he sat in his second bedroom turned office. So far, he’d seen a few doe’s wandering around eating grass, but no little girls. If she didn’t come today, he’d have to bake the dough and eat all the cookies or take them over to Steve. 

At the thought of his guest, Bucky sighed and pushed back a lock of hair that had escaped his ponytail, trying to ignore the anxiousness he felt whenever he thought of the man. Steve seemed like a nice enough guy, and maybe it was because he was new or maybe it was because of his clear military bearing, he still felt tense with anxiety whenever Steve was around. Or maybe the feeling was caused by Steve having deliberately studied his scar on the first day, and apologizing for staring, rather than ignoring it as everyone else did. He was only used to Natasha being this straight-forward and blatant about it. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be used to it. For reasons, he was disinclined to consider. 

As he typed up ideas from his notebook, he thought of the people in town and wondered what they thought about him and how he lived so far from everyone else. Perhaps it was much like Steve had said he originally thought of him, or perhaps they thought he lived so far from them for vanity reasons. Which was laughable, any vanity he’d ever had, had long since dissipated. No, he’d moved so far out for much different reasons. He’d grown weary of all the questioning looks, even worse the actual questions paired with that ever present ‘Thank you for your service’. He was tired of the pitying looks and the averted eyes, seeing him as only what he looked like now rather than the man he’d worked so hard to be. And no one even wanted to try. 

Then Steve Rogers all but sauntered into his life, being the first stranger since he’d returned home that had looked at him as something other than what had happened to him. Of course, he’d been shocked at first. Becca would say that that was just human nature. The scars were horrible, thick keloid things that stood starkly against his skin. But once he’d realized how he was staring, he’d apologized and had even gone on to look at him in a way that only his family had since he came home. Like he could look past the scars that marred Bucky’s face and shoulder. Bucky could see acceptance in Steve's expression, it had been the kind of look that could engender a close friendship if nothing else. 

But if he were to allow such a close friendship, he’d need to talk about what happened. And he wasn’t ready for that, unsure that he ever would be. The hurt and panic ran far too deep in him, that he thought it best that no one ever had to hear of what he’d gone through. Burying those memories and emotions had been the only coping mechanism he allowed himself, and he didn’t want to upset the balance he’d built for himself on the cliff's edge. What if everything tumbled to the ravine below? With nothing there to catch him, he’d fall into the depths of the blackness that had been vying for him since he’d woken up in that hell hole. 

That’s why he’d made himself scarce while Steve’s been staying. He didn’t want to run the risk of meeting with the man again. Besides, it isn’t like he had nothing to do, he had a deadline for the first draft of his newest novel quickly approaching, and he’s sure Natasha would appreciate it if he turned it in on time this go-around— even if he was starting to go stir crazy sitting around and writing all the time. His routine had had him spending much of his day outside, before. Often working in his garden or writing on the back patio in the waning afternoon light. Being stuck inside didn’t suit him, and did horrible things to his creative processes, often resulting in some form of writer’s block. Besides, he’d spent far too much of his life confined to small areas. He’d spent much of the time before moving out here stuck in antiseptic- smelling hospital rooms or locking himself away in his sister’s guest bedroom. Since moving to Honey Cove, he spent as much time outside as the weather would permit, and now he needed it like he needed water or food. Too much time inside and his nightmares would worsen, he worried. 

So, when Steve had asked for help this morning, then left a scant fifteen minutes later, Bucky was relieved. 

Bucky looked up from his computer screen to glance again at the tree line, unsurprisingly the girl stood half hidden by a large fir tree, surveying the house and yard. Moving quickly, he pushed back his chair and turned off the monitor, quickly moving down the stairs and into the kitchen. Hastily scooping dough from the mixing bowl onto a cookie tray for his first batch. His metal fingers tapped against the counter in dull thuds as he waited impatiently for the cookies to bake. What if she left in the ten minutes this takes? Please let her still be there he whispered to himself anxiously. 

When they were finished, he transferred the baking parchment onto a serving tray, pouring a tall glass of milk, and placing a worn copy of A Wrinkle in Time next to everything. Releasing his hair and jamming a worn ball cap onto his head, he moved quickly outside, before forcing himself to slow, lest he startle the poor girl. When he approached, she hid more behind the fir, peeking out as Bucky arranged everything at the base of a tree a few yards away. The girl remained motionless as he settled himself at the tree’s base, leaning against its thick trunk as he nibbled at a cookie. 

“I brought you some cookies and milk if you’d like to have some too,” he said gently, loud enough for the girl to hear. “I thought you might wanna hear about the kitten, too. He’s eating and starting to play with Kotik and Thor. I’ve named him Loki.” He kept talking, mostly about the kitten, and as he continued his steady stream of words the girl crept closer, constantly looking back to check the woods behind her. When the girl reached the cookies, she shoved them quickly into her mouth, washing it down with the entire glass of milk before retreating to her tree. 

Taking this as a sign that the girl would stay for a little while longer, he reached for his book, opening it to its first page. “I was thinking about this book the other day and decided it was far past time to read it again. It’s a story about a little girl and her younger brother and their friend, as they go on an adventure to find their father. Would you like to hear it?” The girl didn’t respond, but she also didn’t leave. Pitching his voice, the way he remembered his mother had when she read it to him, he began. 

For what seemed like forever, only the sound of his voice broke the quiet, stillness of the world. Smiling, he noticed that his guest had settled into a more comfortable position leaning against the tree, rather than staying in her usual ready to run pose. A good sign he thought to himself. The girl was far more relaxed around him than she’d been the previous three times. 

Or she was until he heard tires crunching their way up his drive announcing Steve’s return. 

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about the girls hearing. The second the sound registered, the girl was on her feet, ducking back into the woods. 

Bucky sighed as he placed the glass back onto the tray, to take inside. Not a single crumb remained on the plate, causing him to worry again if the girl got enough to eat every day. And again, the girl wore the same dirty summer dress as she had the three other occasions he’d seen her, suggesting extreme poverty or neglect. Perhaps both, he thought as he worried at his bottom lip. Like the kitten he was caring for, he suspected that this young visitor of his could use some care as well. 

As he neared the house, he was surprised to see that Steve was parking his car near the front porch. He guessed the man could be coming to let Bucky know he was going on his way. A sudden pang in the pit of his stomach caught him off guard and he frowned at his reaction. He’d known from the beginning that Steve would only be staying for a short while, and he hadn’t even seen much of him these past few days. In fact, he’d actively avoided the man. In spite of that, why would the man’s leaving cause such an empty feeling to manifest itself? 

Before he could look at why he’d reacted this way, Steve got out of his car and made his way to Bucky, carrying a pizza box in one hand as he stuffed his keys into his back pocket with the other. When he got closer the smell of the savory pie set off a deep rumble in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. 

A deep furrow appeared on Steve’s brow when he saw the serving tray’s contents, his steps faltering. “Oh, have you eaten already? I was hoping you’d join me. I got this in town and figured I’d invite you to eat it as well since it’s far too much for one person. And I really owe you for that soup you left me, it was delicious.” 

Surprised at the invitation, Bucky eyed the box as he searched for something to say. He hadn’t had pizza in so long, actually, not at all since moving from Becca’s home in Portland. Pizza hadn’t really held any appeal since moving from there, their usual Friday night family meal. But suddenly it was all he wanted. Still, Steve didn’t owe him a damn thing. And spending time with the man in question seemed like an overall bad idea to begin with. 

Shaking his head politely and making a move towards the door, he responded. “Thanks, but you don’t owe me anything.” 

Rather than moving to allow Bucky to pass, Steve remained still. Tilting his head to the side in curiosity, Bucky sent him a puzzled look. 

“Well, I still can’t eat all this by myself.” he grinned widely and waved the box at Bucky. “There’s plenty for the both of us.” 

“Ya’know, unlike pancakes, pizza tastes fine cold. You can finish it tomorrow.” 

“Ah…. tomorrow. That’s somethin’ I wanted to talk to you about. We can talk about it over lunch?” 

The man just wasn’t gonna give up, Bucky realized. Besides, the pizza did smell good. What harm could come of one meal with him? He probably wanted to say he was leaving tomorrow anyway. There wasn't any sense in putting off the inevitable. 

“Fine. Okay. We can eat on the back patio. I’ll bring out some drinks.” 

“Great! I’ll just run down to the guest house to put away a few perishables.” Steve said as he helped Bucky maneuver the serving tray to sit on top of the pizza box. He stepped away quickly afterward, hurrying into his vehicle, and driving off. 

Bucky stared after him for a scant few seconds, wondering what the hell had just happened. Continuing into his house he thought about what he’d just agreed to. He still wasn’t sure that sharing a meal with the man was the best idea. And he wasn’t quite sure how Steve had managed to get him to change his mind and accept. But his smile was infectious. And despite telling himself he didn’t, Bucky thought that the man was interesting. Who was he actually? Steve didn’t exactly exude the aura of a drifter or wandering spirit. And he’d met plenty of them. But it seemed that this is what Steve had been doing for some time now. Wandering aimlessly through, restless all the while. What caused this restlessness? These questions had been plaguing him since that first morning. Questions that had no doubt aided in his nightmares attempts to keep him from sleeping. Then again, his curiosity could be nothing more than something brought on by his isolation and loneliness. A long-denied wish for human interaction. 

It didn’t quite ring true to him. Something about Steve just gave him a sense of…. connection perhaps? As though they were linked beyond this now and their military service. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. 

And wasn’t that just the funniest thing? What exactly could he have in common with a random man who sought shelter from a storm, only coming upon him by pure chance? 

Pushing his way through the door, Bucky set everything onto the counter near the sink before sliding the pizza onto the baking tray he’d used for cookies earlier. Setting the oven at a low temperature, he slid the tray onto his center rack to allow it to heat. As he did this he mulled over everything he knew about Steve thus far. Could it really be chance? Or could it be like Ma used to say to him. ‘There isn’t such a thing as coincidence, Bucky. Everyone you meet, God has brought into your life for a purpose.’ Though he wasn’t as firm a believer in God as his parents probably would’ve hoped, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true. What if Steve hadn’t arrived so close to the fourth of July, if he hadn’t stopped in at the grocer's, if the checker hadn’t thought of his little guest house, Steve never would have come out to Winter Court. And with all those little pieces that had to fall exactly right, he had a tough time believing it was only coincidence. 

Perhaps he was just overthinking things, as he was notorious for doing. Once they finished their meal, he’d probably settle everything, pack his things, and be on his way. Closing out this chapter in Bucky's life. 

He’d know for sure soon enough anyhow. In the meantime, he might as well use up the last of his cookie dough. He had a feeling that Steve would enjoy these the same as his small visitor had. 

*** 

Steve splashed water from the faucet onto his face, thinking about why he’d invited Bucky to join him for lunch. He hadn’t exactly planned on doing it and hadn’t even thought of it until he saw Bucky making his way back to the house, face hidden by a curtain of hair and shadowed by an ever-present ball cap. He’d seemed so alone, again struck by the isolation in which such a young man chose to live. His own isolated traveling aside, it didn’t seem right that the man lived so far out of society, even if it was self-imposed. Didn’t he ever want to just interact with someone? And having been in the army, didn’t he miss that camaraderie that came from living in such close quarters with brothers and sisters in arms? People who would watch your six, expecting only the same in return? Steve certainly did miss it much of the time. 

But that was all taken from him so swiftly. Forced to retire after suffering a bad head injury that sometimes left him with sudden and debilitating migraines, and expecting to return home to a loving wife who would help him move past the PTSD and the injury, only to find bitter betrayal. Betrayal that made him angry and spiteful, wishing only for retribution against those that had caused this. He’d barely been able to function through the months it took to settle the divorce. He’d hoped that through time and patience, those feelings would fade into nothingness, allowing for — if not the same— then something similar to the life he’d had before. He wanted a life and if nothing else than a purpose. Wanted to rid himself of all the negativity and darkness that held him down. That was why he’d set off on this soul-searching, cross-country road trip in the first place. And while there wasn’t hardly any progress to be seen, he was still trying. And would keep trying until he managed to do it. 

He suspected now that that might be the difference between him and his temporary landlord. Bucky had stopped trying to get past whatever isolated him, and instead resigned himself to it. And maybe that was what had prompted him to extend the lunch invitation. Bucky had given him more and newer reason to hope; maybe on some subconscious level he’d recognized that and wished only to repay the favor. 

Whatever his motive was, he still looked forward to sharing a meal with the man. He’d already seen much of his kind nature, but what else could Steve learn about him? What was hidden behind those thick walls that had been built up surrounding him? Breaking through wouldn’t be easy by any means. It didn’t seem like Bucky was too inclined to let anyone through. And as difficult as it would be to break through, Steve had to face today’s real challenge. He needed to find a way to convince Bucky of the plan that he’d crafted on the drive back from town. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky watched out his window as Steve walked carefully across the field, grabbing his pot holder he reached for the oven door. It was ridiculous to be this nervous about sharing a meal with someone. Admittedly, he was probably a bit out of practice. Well, maybe just a little more than a bit, considering the only meals he’d eaten with anyone else in the past few years, were meals eaten with his sister's family, and he hadn’t even done that since Becca and James had visited the previous summer. But he’d had plenty of company for dinners before that, he’d always had someone willing to share a meal and some time with him. Growing up, his parents had hosted dinner parties most weekends, filled with laughter and conversation that flowed naturally between all the party-goers. He knew how to make small talk, it wasn’t like he’d forgotten how. It would come back to him, he was sure of it. 

Mostly. 

Flicking off his oven, he grabbed the pan holding the pizza and made his way out to an already set patio table. Steve hesitated climbing the stairs until Bucky stepped from his screen door. Taking a seat, Bucky motioned for Steve to do the same. Their gazes met for a brief moment before Bucky ducked his head, hiding once more beneath the hat's brim, and reached for one of the slices of pizza. 

“Do you always wear the hat?” Steve asked while leaning in for his own slice, tone indicating that he was attempting to start a conversation. 

For a moment his hand stilled, pizza halfway to his mouth. He weighed the possible intentions behind the question and weighed all of the possible answers before responding. “I need to protect my skin from the sunlight.” 

The cautious answer and tone suggesting he didn’t want to discuss it further weren't quite lost on Steve, but he felt like this was something he needed to press further into. “It isn’t all that sunny here though.” 

A knot formed in Bucky's throat, so much for small talk. While he’d been trying to think of small, unimportant, and yet distracting conversation topics; Steve had just swan dived directly into the deep end. 

“The pizza is getting cold,” he responded, taking a large bite from the slice he still held. 

Silence greeted him after his abrupt his topic change. He could feel the other man’s scrutiny as he piled some of his melted cheese back onto his slice. He could sense that Steve didn’t wish to drop the topic, and he held his breath, hoping he would anyway. It was only when he took a bite of his pizza did Bucky exhale, relief washing over him as he figured this was Steve dropping the subject. 

But he was wrong, and his breath stuck trying to get past the lump forming at the base of his throat again at the next comment. “It ain’t like I haven’t seen your face, Bucky.” 

Startled, he stared at the blonde, not quite sure how to respond. Most, including some of his more distant relatives who knew what had happened, danced around the subject. Very rarely would they even acknowledge the subject of his appearance. Except, Steve seemed to prefer facing it head on, in a simple and straightforward manner. Rattling Bucky to his core. 

A blush rose up his neck, and he looked down, picking at a small chip in his porcelain plate. “I always wear hats around other people,” he said, voice no higher than a faint mumble. 

“Why?” 

This was getting far too personal for his comfort. “Why do you wanna know?” he turned his question back at the blonde, tone wary, as he attempted to think of some response that would divert any future questions or comments. 

“You’re just very handsome. You’ve got a strong jaw, and despite being gray, your eyes are very clear and beautiful. I just think it’s a shame that you’d hide them.” 

Whatever he’d expected, that certainly wasn’t it in the slightest. He could only stare at Steve, bewildered. 

If Bucky was surprised by his words, then Steve was even more so. Of course, it was all true, but that didn’t mean he had to say it. Where in the world had he even gotten the idea that it’d be safe to say things like that? It certainly wasn’t that Steve was some sort of smooth talker, he had never been, not even after he’d gotten bigger and healthier in high school. What was even more of a surprise was that Steve had gone out of his way to avoid being in anything near any sort of relationship -- even if it was purely physical -- in nearly two years. Hell, he hadn’t even found anyone attractive, yet here he was directly telling this man that he was handsome. This man had already caused Steve to break several of the rules he’d set for himself. But Bucky seemed to be in need of care, much like the kitten he continued to raise. And the words had come falling from his mouth before his filter could even catch up. 

As he watched, he could see a dark red flush flood Bucky’s face, confirming that the man hadn’t been paid too many compliments lately regarding how he looked. He waited patiently, unsure if Bucky would respond or ignore his comment once more. Steve saw a gloss to Bucky’s eyes when he glanced up. Gut tightening at the sight of unshed tears, he pushed back the urge to reach out and grasp his long fingers in a comforting hold. Rather, he dropped his hands to his lap, clasping them together to force them from reaching out and doing anything inappropriate. 

Just as he began thinking of things to change the subject with, Bucky surprised him with an answer about his ever-present hat. 

“The scars and the arm make people uncomfortable. It’s easier if I hide them so that they don’t have to see it,” he told him in a calm voice. That simple, sincere compliment had blasted through a section of Bucky’s wall. The force of it compelling him to speak. 

“They don’t make me uncomfortable.” 

Curious, Bucky studied his features, finding only open honesty in his expression. “But, why not?” 

“Why should they?” he countered. “What counts is the person inside. And I’ve seen plenty enough since being here to know you’re kind and caring. Your taking me in during the storm is enough proof. Not even mentioning how welcome you’ve made me feel, and your concern over that little girl. Even the kitten! All those things make you a good man, Bucky.” 

His words warmed Bucky’s heart but didn’t change his reality. “In a not-so-good-looking-package.” 

“That why you’re hiding all the way out here?” 

“I’m not hiding,” Bucky scowled, his response much too swift to seem like anything other than a lie. It didn’t help that his tone was far too defensive. Why would he be defensive? It's not like Steve was right, in fact, he was dead wrong. He wasn’t in hiding, people only hid when they were scared of something when something was threatening to them and they sought safety. His reasons for withdrawing from society had nothing to do with his fears and anxieties. None. absolutely none. He took a deep breath and tried to answer again. “Look…. This…. Well, this is just easier. For lotsa reasons.” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Vanity?” 

“NO!” This, he was a hundred percent sure about. 

“Then take off the jacket and hat.” he challenged. 

Startled, Bucky stared in disbelief. His jacket and hat were a security blanket of sorts, the only thing that protected him from the pitying eyes of the outside world-- in a figurative sense if nothing else. Without it, he’d be exposed. He’d only ever removed them around his doctors and family, and the majority of the time he wore them even with family. And yet, in this moment he found himself seriously considering removing it. He wasn’t even sure why he felt this way. 

As he considered it, he tracked Steve’s features, searching for anything that betrayed him as someone who’d only be disgusted at his disfigurement. Steve continued to watch him from across the table, gaze supportive. Sure that, when fully exposed, the scars wouldn’t have any effect on his opinion of Bucky thus far. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t already know that, he’d been partially exposed already. And later once his hat was firmly back in place, he’d looked at the scars and apologized for making him uncomfortable by staring. And in later conversations, there’d been no indication that his injuries were an uncomfortable topic for him, nor were they something he was only morbidly curious about. As though he’d seen them, and just accepted them as if they’d always been part of him, the same way the cleft in his chin or his eye color was; a physical feature that had absolutely nothing to do with who he was as a person. The removal of his outerwear would be ultimately unsurprising beyond the fact that he did. Perhaps that was why he felt comfortable enough to consider accepting the challenge. 

At the very least he didn’t want Steve thinking him vain. He had to set the record straight on that, he didn’t want to ruin the image of him that Steve had painted. 

Shaking, he began to tug his right arm from his jacket. Then with a deep breath, he removed his left arm from its sleeve. Trembling hands then reached up and tugged the hat off in one swift motion, setting it on the table near his plate of half eaten pizza. Gently, he raked his hair back away from his face, hair tumbling forward again over his shoulders in thick waves. 

“Most have a tough time seeing past the scarring. And the arm.” He stated softly, tapping his metal fingers against the glass table-top. 

“Their loss.” 

Steve rested his elbows on the table, linking his hands beneath his chin as he stared ahead of him. Enduring the scrutiny had to have been one of the most difficult interactions he’d had in quite some time. His whole body shook, like a baby bird, like when he was boarding the plane for his first deployment. Though eager to help make a difference in the world, he’d been anxious over how many things could go wrong once he’d made it over. He’d known before that he’d never be the same after. This moment was like that. 

As Steve looked at the man sitting across from him, he did his best to maintain his composure. But he was finding it difficult. Now, he could better understand what Bucky had meant when he’d told him that it made people uncomfortable to see. The tiny glimpses of it he’d seen before and the brief glimpse he’d gotten that first morning had done little to prepare him for the full extent that was Bucky’s scarring. Now, fully exposed in the midday sun, without a hat or hair to hide them, Steve could see that it not only came down the side of his face and onto his collar bones. And it was an awkward thing to see past. A good section of the left side of his face was discolored, shiny, taut skin, mixed intermittently with red. Parts of the surface sat raised in uneven ridges, some of it the scars puckered inwards as well, making deep crevices. Steve had seen scars like these on men he’d seen at the VA offices the few times he’d gone. Nothing less than a severe burn and shrapnel could have caused these. 

A branch of the scar touched at the edge of Bucky’s eye, he pushed his focus there, trying to breathe past the panic of this could have happened to me. “Is your eyesight okay?” it was all he could ask that wouldn’t sound like he was judging the other man, and maintain his calm. 

“Yeah, I guess I got lucky,” Bucky laughed bitterly. “Anymore to the right and I would have lost my eye.” 

“IED?” 

“Mostly, yeah.” 

“How long ago.” 

“Just over four years.” 

Bucky tried to prepare for the next question as Steve glanced him over. He knew how this morbid curiosity always went. Everyone knew it was a roadside bomb. But they always wanted to know more. Wanted to know what had happened. But he was never ready for that conversation. And removing his jacket and hat had been more than traumatic enough for one day, thank-you-very-much. 

But Steve surprised him again by nodding, and rather than probing further, he reiterated what he’d said earlier. “I’m sorry Bucky, I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. But, it still doesn’t change my impression of you.” To punctuate the end of his sentence, he took a hearty bite of his slice before gesturing to Bucky to do the same with his own. 

He didn’t think he could swallow anything after that. His emotions were all over the place, running rampant as he tried to calm himself down. Strangely enough, it was Steve who managed to calm him, telling him about his trip into Honey Cove, talked about the young girl, and at one point asked about how the kitten was faring. Small talk, the man was making small talk. 

Odd, as that had been how Bucky had expected to begin the meal together. Rather, he’d reversed the order of the conversations flow, allowing for Bucky to relax as he enjoyed his pizza, not worrying about the if or the when of Steve asking about his appearance. On top of that, he’d paid no attention to the scar after the initial discussion. When he spoke, he looked Bucky directly in the eyes, not at his disfigured face. By the end, he was much more comfortable around the other man, than Bucky had thought he ever could be again. For a short while, he’d been able to forget about how horrible he looked now. 

When they were finished, he and Steve gathered all the dishware onto his serving tray to be brought inside, then went to retrieve the still warm cookies. Steve’s face lit up as soon as he saw them carried through the screen, and he couldn’t hold back the smile that curved the edges of his mouth. 

“I think these got the same reaction from my young visitor this morning too.” He deposited the tray on the table, pushing the handle of a mug of coffee towards the other man. Settling in his own chair once more as he watched him take a drink of the strong, black coffee. 

“Just the way I like it, thanks for remembering.” 

The compliment caused a faint heat to rise, filling his cheeks as he began to reach for a cookie. “When you got back, you said you wanted to talk about your plans?” He queried, ignoring the heat on his face. They’d had a nice lunch, and he’d enjoyed the chance to forget his problems very much, but if Steve was gonna pack up and head out tomorrow there was really no sense in putting off that particular conversation. Even if the subject made him slightly queasy, and caused that oddly empty sensation to settle in the pit of his stomach. Instead of biting the cookie, he dipped it into his coffee, hoping to receive an answer before it got so soggy it fell apart. He didn’t. 

To buy himself some time, Steve had taken a long sip of his coffee, holding the mug to his lips as he tried to find a good phrasing. All the plans he’d worked out on his drive back from town rested on a single thing: whether or not Bucky would allow him to remain at Winter Court. The peace he’d found here was the real attraction of this secluded area, and without that, there wasn’t any reason for him to linger any longer. To the first challenge would be to convince Bucky to let him stay. And if he succeeded in that, the next would be finding a way to fund such an extended stay. Hopefully, Bucky could help him out with that too. 

Withdrawing an envelope from his shirt pocket, he laid it on the table in front of the other man. “This should settle up everything through tonight.” 

The knot in the pit of Bucky’s stomach tightened, clenching his hands around the mug he held, fixing his attention on the minor ripples in the liquid that were formed by his trembling hands. 

“I’ve enjoyed my stay here. In fact, I’d really like to stay on a bit longer if you’d let me,” he continued. Bucky jerked up and back in surprise, and Steve didn’t know just quite how to interpret the look on the other man’s face. He’d almost call it…. relief? But that didn’t make any sense. 

“You wanna stay?” Bucky was having a hard time processing everything, especially since he’d already resigned himself to being left alone again. 

“Yeah, I’d like to.” 

“Okay.” A sort of happiness washed over him at the news. 

Now Steve stared in surprise. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so simple. “Okay?” 

“Yes. Okay.” 

“That’s great. Thank you. I can’t really stay much longer though I’d like to. I’ve been on the road for the past eight or so months, so funds are running pretty low. Despite the great rates you’ve got, I was hoping you could point me towards some contractors in the area or maybe carpenters and painters who might be able to take on a temporary employee.” 

“You don’t have to. I already told you before, it’s just sitting over there empty. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. For free.” 

“Maybe not. But I have to pay.” 

Ah, it was a pride thing, Bucky realized. Pursing his lips a little, he backed off a bit. “Fine, but the rate is less for an extended stay.” 

“It can’t get much less.” 

“Yeah, it can.” Steve frowned at the new weekly rate. It was less than half what he had been paying before. Bucky raised a challenging eyebrow before continuing. “I won’t consider a penny more. Take it, or leave it.” from the way he looked, Bucky thought he was going to try and argue about the price again, but instead, he chuckled lightly. 

“You drive a hard bargain, man.” 

A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth again. “We got a deal or no?” 

“Yeah, alright.” he held out his left hand, clearly out of habit. Pausing only briefly, Bucky reached out with his prosthetic and shook the offered hand, feeling the firm grip in some of the external sensors attached to it. “But, I still need to find work. Can you direct me to anyone?” 

“‘Fraid not. I don’t really know too many people in town.” suddenly he thought about his cramped second bedroom that acted as both his guest room and his office. “But I have an idea. I’ve been wanting to build a detached office since I got here. The room I use now isn’t really ideal since I can’t use it when my family comes to visit. And I drew up a sort of design a while back.” 

Leaning back, Steve took in what Bucky was telling him. “So, you’re the one who wrote all those books. I saw the box of them, and the box of notes on the couch the night I arrived.” 

“Yeah, it’s what I’ve been doing since I got back and got this,” he said, tapping his metal fingers against the table twice before settling them into his lap again. “I used the cabin as an office at first, but sometimes idea’s hit in the middle of the night, and it’s too far to walk. The best spot would probably be over there.” he gestured to an empty space not far from his back porch and not far from his garden either. “How about this? I’ll get everything you need and design it, all you gotta do is build it. We’ll call it even, a barter.” 

The idea was great. And if he built the office for Bucky, he could spend much of his time at Winter Court, without seeming like some sort of weirdo. But, just as he made to accept he saw an indecisive frown on Bucky’s lips. “What’s the matter?” 

His guest was observant, he’d grant him that much. “I just thought…. well, you’d be gettin' the shorter end of the stick here. Money wise, it’d be better for you if you worked for somebody else and paid me rent. And a project like this? Well, it’d take weeks, and you didn’t really say how long you wanted to stay.” Bucky explained his thoughts as he crumbled a cookie into small chunks onto the napkin in front of him. 

The tension in Steve’s eyes faded. “Forget about the money. I’m not here to get rich or anything. And as for the construction schedule. Well, it could take from a month to four or five months, depending on how you want everything. I’m not in any hurry to leave so that won’t be a problem. And the arrangement sounds great.” Smiling he made a counter offer, “My only request is that you throw in a hot meal once a day. Take it or leave it.” 

He grinned widely at Bucky as he pretended to consider the negotiation. Happiness lit up a piece of his heart. It was so small that he wasn’t even entirely sure that it was actually there. He brushed it off as caused by the fact that he’d finally get the office he’d been wanting since he had been little and told his parents he wanted to write stories his whole life. But he knew there was more to it. His happiness had been fueled mostly by the man who sat across from him, chewing happily on a bite of his cookie. Steve Rogers, with all his proud and direct manner, and his strange ability to pull Bucky from behind the wall he’d created, isolating him from the rest of the world; had brought a refreshing sense of new to a life that had already begun to dull. Until he’d knocked on the door that night, Bucky hadn’t even realized that his life had stagnated; gone from comforting to confining at some point in the last three years. 

It seemed that Bucky just had to trust where fate would take him, now that they introduced him to Steve. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

“Christ-on-a-stick, Bucky. You weren’t kidding when you said your house was a construction zone!” 

Shooting his sister a quick look, Bucky drove the car around several piles of lumber and up near his back door. Shrugging his shoulder, he looked at her again when the car was in park. “Steve doesn’t waste time.” 

“When’s the dump truck gonna come, Uncle Bucky?” 

Six-year-old Jamie had clicked open the belts of his car seat the moment he’d turned onto the gravel driveway and was now crawling back and forth across the back seats, trying to see everything. 

“Tomorrow, hope you weren’t planning to sleep in.” 

“I like to get up early,” he assured him excitedly as Bucky moved to get out of the car. “I wanna get the stuff! Don’t hurt your arm!” he said scrambling back into the car for their luggage. 

Becca rolled her eyes at her brother as he walked around to help her out. She was pregnant, not an invalid. “Why is my son so weird? Can’t he be a normal kid, ya’know be lazy and sleep until noon?” 

“Hey! I am a normal kid,” Jamie protested. 

“Above normal, I think,” Bucky added as he opened the door to free his nephew. 

“Except when it comes to sleep,” Becca said between yawns. They’d been on a bus for three hours and then in a car for the last half hour. “You coulda chosen somewhere to live that wasn’t so far out in the damn boonies.” 

“I didn’t want somewhere easy to get to. And stop complaining. Tourists pay lotsa good money to come out here and stay. You’re lucky to have somewhere free.” 

“Yeah, a construction site.” 

“Yeah, well if Steve weren’t out in the guest house, I’d put you out there.” 

An over exaggerated shudder ran through his sister at the comment. “No thank you. Waking up to a deer staring at me through the window once was quite enough. Talk about a shock! As a born and bred Brooklynite, I prefer to watch my wildlife from a distance. Like so far I can only see it on the tv.” 

“You should tell that to Steve when you meet him, yeah? When I mentioned you were coming, he wanted to move out so you’d have a place to stay. It was all I could do to convince him that you preferred my office, cramped as it is.” 

“Hey now, that bed is amazing, and sharing with James isn’t too bad. He takes up far less room than Rob, snores quieter too.” Chuckling they both looked over to where Jamie was attempting to get the bags from the backseat. 

“I hate that he doesn’t have stuff in there he can play with, though. That he’s stuck hanging around me all day.” 

“Are you kidding? He spends his mornings practicing his letters because ‘I wanna be a writing person like Uncle Bucky when I’m old’. He adores hanging out with you. Don’t you James?” 

The child had already dragged their bags onto the dirt next to the rear tire, completely oblivious to the adult’s conversation. “Can I go look at all that stuff, Uncle Bucky?” 

“Well, I’d have to go over with you…. And you can’t touch anything until Steve gets back.” 

“Where is your builder man anyway?” Becca asked as she pushed her sunglasses into her hair. 

“In the guest house, probably? You’ll see him tomorrow.” Bucky swung his nephew's little backpack onto his good shoulder. 

“I’m looking forward to meeting this guy.” 

“Why?” 

“Curiosity, I guess. Any guy who can get you to let him stay has gotta be special.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, just because he’d told her he didn’t need them to move out here…. He bent to lift her suitcase and had to heave a bit to lift it. “What’d you pack? Bricks?” 

“That’s what Daddy said when he took us to the bus,” James chimed in with a wide grin. 

“Hahaha, very funny boys. I only packed the necessities.” Becca flipped her sunglasses back onto her nose, raising an eyebrow and glancing over their top rim. “You’re avoiding my question, James Buchanan.” 

“I’ve no clue what you’re talkin’ bout. You never asked anything. And don’t full name me, you aren’t my mom.” He pushed one of the other suitcases towards her. He should’ve known she wouldn’t drop the subject. 

“Why’s this guy so special?” 

“When did I say he was?” 

“You don’t gotta. I got your number Bucky Barnes, and don’t you forget it. Besides, he’s here ain’t he? That’s more than enough proof for me. So, spill, is he one of those hunky construction types? You know all muscles and hard hat? I bet he is. I bet he’s blonde too, you always did like them buff and blonde.” 

He flushed a deep red, it wasn’t like it was a lie. He planted his prosthetic hand on his hip and gave his sister an annoyed look. “He’s nice, okay? A bit scruffy, and down on his luck, but nice.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Fine,” Bucky sighed exasperatedly, throwing his hand into the air. “You can check him out tomorrow.” 

“Oh, and I intend to, first thing tomorrow. But, first, sleep.” 

*** 

As it was, ‘first thing tomorrow’ meant six o’clock when the sound of the dump truck attempting to maneuver his driveway broke the silence of the morning. 

Bucky had gotten up, nearly three hours before. He’d always been an early riser, it had only been compounded by joining the army, and later his PTSD-induced nightmares. But he hadn’t felt too bad, as Jamie was up not half an hour later, yawning and stretching his little arms above his head, much like Bucky remembered having done as a child. He’d sent the boy off to shower only a few minutes before, and when he’d checked in on Becca, she’d still been cuddled up to a large body pillow, dead to the world, and a dark stain of drool on the light blue pillow case. That wouldn’t be the case for long, however, not with the racket happening outside the house at the moment. 

Since there wasn’t any sign that Steve was up yet, Bucky tugged a hat over his loose hair, swinging his jacket on, hoping the burly man stepping from the truck wouldn’t notice that one was empty. He tugged the hat lower on his face as he moved towards the railing. The man had already begun examining the wooden forms that Steve had begun to build for the foundation. “Sorry, my construction manager isn’t here yet,” Bucky called to the man, standing in the shadow of the house. 

Shading his eyes from the early morning sun, he looked up at Bucky. “That’s fine, I’m a bit early. Steve said six-thirty, but I wasn’t sure where exactly I was going, figured nobody’d mind if I came a little early. I don’t come out this way much, ‘s pretty out here though.” 

“Thanks. You want coffee while you wait?” 

“Oh no, I’m okay. The missus sent me with my own.” The man held up a bright red to-go mug and smiled. Nobody brews it like I like, so strong a spoon’ll stick right up out of it.” 

With a smile and a small wave, Bucky walked back inside. Becca was standing over a coffee mug, staring into its contents like it knew the reason for life. She stood her hair piled into a messy bun at the top of her head, wearing faded blue jeans and a large, worn thin sweat-shirt for Willamette University College of Law that she used to hide her barely there pregnancy belly. 

“You weren’t kidding about the early morning, were you?” She gripped with a slight smile to show she was only joking. 

“I never joke about mornings,” he said in a serious tone. “Look at it this way, the concrete’s gotta set for a coupla days, so it’ll be pretty quiet most of your stay. Need more coffee?” 

“I could be convinced.” 

As Bucky refilled her cup and added far too much cream and sugar for his own liking, he glimpsed Steve through the open window, just leaving the little cabin. “Well, you’re about to get your first look at my tenant,” he told Becca, nodding towards the window as he handed her mug back. 

That perked her up quicker than the coffee had, that’s for sure. Wrapping both hands around the mug, she leaned over the counter to look out the window. “Oh, Where? Never mind, I see him, well, kinda. But the sun's in my eyes, and I don’t have my contacts in yet.” She squinted harder, but eventually sighed and leaned back. “It’s no good, I’ll have to wait ‘til he gets closer.” 

Not long after, when the sound of voices drifted in through the window, Becca moved to return to the window. Bucky grabbed her arm and pushed her back into her seat before she could get there, however, fixing her with his ‘you going to defy a direct order, Private?’ look. “It isn’t polite to eavesdrop.” 

“I just wanna get a look!” 

“And I’ll introduce you to him later. Patience is a virtue.” 

Making a face, Becca stood again, opened the refrigerator and began poking around its contents, “So? What’re we having for breakfast? How ‘bout those pancakes you made last time? I’ve been craving them for weeks. Got a feeling this little one’s gonna like you better ’n me too….” she said rubbing her hand in soothing circles on her stomach. 

A sharp knock on the back door startled her from her speed talking. She straightened at the interruption, and Bucky flashed her a grin. “See? Good things come to those who wait for ‘em.” 

With that, he moved to the door to invite Steve inside, Bucky turned, intending to introduce the two. But at his sister's incredulous expression the words died on his tongue. Becca’s mug was halfway to her open mouth. And the way she gaped at Steve was incredibly embarrassing, he felt heat flood his face at his sister’s rude behavior. This wasn’t like his sister. And even if his tenant was a little bit scruffy around the edges, it wasn’t like she’d never seen Bucky like that. And even if she hadn’t, his appearance didn’t call for the kind of reaction Becca was having. 

Bucky turned to apologize to the man for his sister’s impoliteness -- and had the exact same reaction to the blonde that stood before him. A man transformed. 

Gone was the shaggy mane of dirty blonde hair. It was now cut short in a neat, fashionable side part. The beard had gone as well, revealing a strong, square jaw. And in the two weeks he’d been staying here, he’d filled out quite a bit, and his sharp features had rounded out. His jeans fit as though he’d been sewn into them, snug t-shirt brought all attention to where it stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, falling loose as it tapered down to a narrow waist. Steve placed both hands on his hips and smiled at the siblings. 

“Morning Buck, ma’am.” He nodded at the two, amusement flickering in his bright blue eyes. “You must be Becca. I’m Steve Rogers.” He extended a hand towards her. 

For once, she seemed to be speechless, completely at a loss for words. She took his hand and cleared her throat. “Hello, I’m Becca Proctor, this lugs Sister.” 

Ginning, Steve Turned to his host. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting him to be here so early, and you’re usually awake by now. He won’t be here long, and I hope we didn’t disturb anyone.” 

All Bucky could manage was a shake of his head. And with that, Steve disappeared out the door, leaving the siblings in a shocked silence. 

“You said he was scruffy. That is not scruffy, Bucky!” Becca exclaimed, voice cracking as she tried to find her voice. 

“He was though.” 

“Fine, but a warning woulda been nice,” his sister continued, bowling over Bucky’s reply. 

“‘Bout what?” 

Hands on her hips, she gave him a disapproving look, shaking her head. “Look Bucky, I know you’ve been outta the game a while, but I know that you know what a fine specimen looks like.” She groaned as she looked down at her clothes, and tentatively touched her hair. “I’m a mess! Talk about a bad first impression. Jesus.” 

“You look fine. What does it matter anyway? You’re married, it’s not like you’re suddenly trying to attract him.” 

“You know, for a gay guy, you know very little about women. I bet it was the army.” She sighed at him with pity. “Dear brother mine, I always want to be noticed by attractive people. It’s good for my ego.” she moved to the window to peek out. “Who is he anyway? You said he was a drifter? But there's no way in hell that's true.” 

“I dunno really anything about him, ‘cept that he’s been on the road a while.” 

Skeptical, Becca surveyed her brother. “This guy’s been here two weeks and you don’t know anything about him? Who are you, and what’d you do to my brother?” 

“I don’t wanna pry.” 

“Prying and showing interest is not the same, and you know it. Looks like I’ve got a lot to do.” Becca said with a thoughtful look. 

“Becca.” His voice was stern. “He seems like a private person. Do not hound him.” 

“When’ve I ever?” She said with an innocent expression. 

“Rebecca.” 

“Fine, whatever. I promise to at least try and behave.” 

That was as good as he was gonna get out of her, and he knew it. Unfortunately, it left far too much wiggle room for his liking. 

*** 

“So…. what brought you to Honey Cove, Steve?” 

Bucky kicked his sister under the table. They’d only been eating for a few minutes, and already she was trying to pry out information, and pushing into private territory. Becca ignored his kick, and shifted so he couldn’t do it again. She kept her attention fixed on Steve as though this was a meeting with one of her criminal clientele. 

“Do you want more lemonade, Steve?” Bucky offered, trying to kick at Becca again. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” 

As he picked up the pitcher, Bucky suspected that Steve was already sorry he’d agreed to have lunch with them. Since they’d worked out their barter, they’d shared a hot lunch every day. Originally, he’d insisted that they put a hold on the arrangement, at least until Becca and Jamie left, stating that meals were family time and he didn’t want to intrude on that. However, as soon as Becca had heard that, she insisted that he join them, considering it would really be her who was intruding on routine. When Steve continued to object, she’d threatened to take all her meals in town. In the end, he’d given in. A decision he was probably now regretting. 

As he poured, he almost wished that he had done so with his prosthetic, that way at least he could have spilled some on her and blamed it on a glitch, forcing her to leave the table to change. Of course, that wouldn’t be nice, and he could almost hear his mother saying, ‘Be nice to your sister now, James’. But it would certainly gain Steve enough time that he could escape from the table. He glanced over at her, and she returned with a suspicious look, almost like she knew what he was thinking. In the end, he returned the pitcher to its spot on the table, hoping his sister would keep herself in check for once. 

Too bad it apparently physically pained her to do so. 

“We were talkin’ about your visit here, Steve. What brought you to this dinky town?” Becca prompted. 

“I’ve been traveling around. Great American road trip and all that. This place seemed…. Interesting?” 

“Oh? It is very pretty out here. So, where’re you from?” 

Steve hesitated, leaving Bucky to wonder if he was just reluctant to share such personal information -- or if he didn’t have one. “I grew up in Brooklyn, but I’d been living in D.C. for a while before that.” 

“Isn’t it just a small world? Bucky and I are from Brooklyn, though you could probably hear that.” 

“Have some more chicken, Becca.” Bucky placed the bowl of fried chicken in front of her rather roughly. 

“Thanks Bucky, I will.” She helped herself to two more drumsticks, looking at the food rather than him. “I always eat so much when I come out here, Bucky’s such a good cook. Ma and I used to tell him he oughta open a restaurant or something. But, he joined the Army instead, and when he discharged he wanted to be a writer, both aren’t easily done while raising a family but, oh well. He’s good at writing obviously, but he could have fed me more if he was a chef. Our family would probably be half his clientele. Do you have a family, Steve?” 

The information had been thrown at him so quickly, Steve had trouble keeping up. It wasn’t as though he was dodging her questions, he was just trying to process all of the information he was gathering about Bucky. He’d known he was in the army, and that he was an author, but he hadn’t realized that he had family outside of his sister, brother-in-law and their children. And the part about raising a family had been news, he hadn’t heard anything about a family -- as in a wife and children. The news was startling, and he shifted his attention to his host. Why weren’t they here with him if he had a family? He wore no ring, had they divorced? Or even worse, had they died? Bucky met his eyes for a brief moment, and he could see the apology in them, he wished he could assure the other man that it was fine, that his sister's questions weren’t a bother, but that in and of itself was a lie. Still, if giving up information about himself would bring out more information about Bucky, he figured it was more than a fair trade. 

“No, I was married, but we got divorced when I came back from my last tour. We had no children together, but I think she has a daughter with her new husband.” 

As Bucky tried to process that brand-new bit of information, compassion softened Becca’s expression. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know sometimes couples don’t work out, but divorce has got to be hard.” 

“Yeah, I’m just glad there were no children involved.” He didn’t mention that Sharon’s daughter had been born half-way through their nine-month long divorce proceedings. 

“So, besides the army, have you always been a carpenter?” Until now, James had been too busy eating anything to notice what the three adults had been talking about. But at the mention of Steve’s work, he looked up. He’d been following Steve around the work site all morning, hard hat falling over his ears and face as he made awed exclamations at the man’s deft handling of the tools and lumber. Now, it seemed he was all too happy to be a part of Becca’s grilling of Steve, though his motives were purely innocent. 

“Turning towards Jamie, Steve smiled. “No. Not always.” 

“How’d you learn all that stuff?” 

“My Da’s is a contractor, he builds the big buildings in New York. He was a great teacher.” 

“Oh. My Daddy is a Lawyer like Mommy. He works in a big office and goes to court to talk to all the judges to help people who are in trouble to get their just-ice” 

“Oh, he sounds like a real nice guy, good for him.” 

“Bucky sure coulda used your help when he first moved out here,” Becca joined in, directing her comment at Steve. “Rehabbing the house was no small job, especially with that glitchy as he--ck prosthetic.” she paused to correct her language in front of her son. 

“You rehabbed this place?” Steve tilted his head curiously at Bucky. 

“Whole place, top to bottom,” Becca answered for him. “It was horrible. Had to bust out some god awful pseudo-wood paneling, restrained and varnished all the woodwork and flooring, replaced all the siding, and painted. Did an amazing job.” 

Impressed, Steve looked over at the man in question. No wonder Steve hadn’t had to buy any tools yet. “I agree, the place looks great.” 

Flush rising to his face, Bucky responded quietly. “It was just the cosmetic stuff.” 

Becca huffed. “It was a lot more than that, and you know it.” she declared. 

“This is really good, Uncle Bucky.” Jamie said as he stuffed another bite of potato salad into his mouth. 

“Thank you, Jamie. And we’ve got pudding for dessert. 

“Awesome!” he tilted his head and examined his uncle as he chewed another bite. When his mouth was clear, he directed a wide smile at his favorite uncle. “Your face looks better this year. Does it hurt still?” 

“James Oliver!” 

Becca’s scolding tone had negligible effect on the young boy. “It does.” He responded stubbornly before turning back to Bucky. And your eyes are happy, too.” 

Suddenly, a speculative look crossed over Becca’s features, indicating that it was high time that Bucky cleared the table. “And on to dessert.” 

Rising, Steve reached for Jamie’s plate next to his own. “Let me help.” 

“You don’t gotta do that, Steve.” 

“I’d still like to.” 

Instead of arguing, Bucky began to pile the dishes onto his serving tray and headed for the kitchen, Steve close on his heels. When they’d both deposited the dishes on the counter, he took a deep breath and turned to look at the blonde. “I’m so sorry about that, she can be pretty nosy.” 

A grin teased at the corners of his mouth. “I think the FBI or CIA could have used her interrogation skills more than in the courtroom.” 

“She is kinda pushy…” 

“At least it isn’t a trait that runs in the family.” 

Bucky smiled in answer. “I probably got my Ma’s diplomacy. Becca got Dad’s curiosity.” then his expression grew earnest. “But she’s a great girl. Helped me out a lot after….” He got choked up, and clamped his mouth shut mid-sentence. 

“Hey, it’s alright. I like her.” he laid his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder, feeling the cold, hard metal through his thin shirt. “I’m not offended by her.” 

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat as he realized what arm Steve had placed his hand on. “I’m glad. But also, I owe you an apology. Sorry for staring this morning, you just… looked different.” 

This time he smiled wide, and bright. “That’s alright. I’m flattered. That is assuming that by different, you mean better.” Without giving a chance, you confirm or deny this, he kept talking, rubbing a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “I gotta say, I feel more human now that I’ve ditched the scary hitchhiker look.” 

“That why you did it?” 

“In part. I suppose I also didn’t wanna make your sister think you’d taken in some derelict. Besides, it was time.” Before Bucky could ask for him to elaborate on what he’d meant, he glanced over Bucky’s shoulder and changed the subject. “Nice glassware, are they hand painted? The metallic paints really catch the light. Sorry, I’ve been meaning to compliment you on them for a while.” 

Turning to look briefly, Bucky surveyed the contents of his china cabinet. Each dish had fine, swirling vines painted around the bordering edges, indeed catching the sunlight from where they sat neatly organized in the large ornate china cabinet that sat against the wall leading into the living room. “I rescued them from my parents’ house when they were downsizing. Many of them were broken, so I fixed ‘em up, good as new. They’d’ve gone to the garbage if I hadn’t.” 

“Sorta like the kitten.” and the little girl. Me too. But Steve left the latter thoughts unspoken. 

His soft comment and warm expression left Bucky off tilt, and speechless. But it didn’t seem as though he was expecting a response. Rather, he began heading for the door. “I’ll go get some more dishes,” he called out as he walked through the screen door. 

Forcing his reaction to the back of his mind, Bucky returned to the table as well. He needed his full brain power to deal with Becca’s questions. But, to his utter relief, the conversation he returned to was light and impersonal for the rest of the meal. By the time Steve left to return to his work, Jamie trailing excitedly behind him, Bucky was exhausted. He hoped this wasn’t what meals would be like for the rest of Becca’s stay. He didn’t think he could handle all the tension. 

The dishes were nearly all washed when Becca walked into the house, draining the last of her coffee. He glanced at her in disapproval before going back to his work. 

“You’re pissed, huh?” 

“I asked you not to push him.” 

“I didn’t push. I just asked some questions.” 

“You pushed, Rebecca. And why’d you have to bring up the rehabbing? And now he probably thinks I had some wife that left me because I’m ugly, rather than a boyfriend who didn’t want to be an army spouse.” 

“I thought he knew! Y’all have lunch every day. Don’t you ever…. I dunno, talk about yourselves.” 

“No, because I’m not nosy, unlike some people I know.” He gave her a pointed look. 

“The word you’re looking for is ‘interested’. And all Italians are like that.” 

“We’re third generation Americans!” 

“Pah, Rob grew up in Italy, and after nearly a decade together, I’m Italian by osmosis. His ma feeds me enough. I gotta say though, that I wasn’t at my best today. He’s really good at sidestepping my questions. Found out he’s divorced, but why? What’d he do that wasn’t the army or carpentry? And seriously, not only does he not sound like he’s from Brooklyn, he didn’t even want to say that he was! Plus, he was vague, anytime I say we’re from Brooklyn, I always mention that we’re from Red Hook.” 

Shaking his head as he placed the last dish into the strainer, he sighed. After shutting off the water, he turned to look at his sister, folding his arms across his chest. “Let him be, Becca. If he wants to talk about it, he will.” 

“He may need coaxing though.” 

“Well, if you keep ‘coaxing’,” he used his flesh hand to make the air quotes. “He may stop coming by for lunch all together. 

She furrowed her brow in thought. “You’ve got a point. I’ll back off a little, I guess.” 

“A lot.” 

“Fine.” she sighed like it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. “Anyway, Jamie was right about how you look.” she said, finally rinsing her cup. 

Bucky looked sad for a moment as he reached up to touch his hand across the grooves on his face. “I’ll never look close to normal again, Becca. We all know that.” 

“I’m not talkin’ about your face, Stupid. I’m talkin’ about your eyes. He was right, they look happier. Wonder why?” 

Without waiting for a response, she flipped her mug mouth down onto the counter next to the coffee pot and headed upstairs, clearly formulating her own theory. One that probably involved Bucky’s unexpected guest. 

Honestly, he probably couldn’t even dispute her. Since Steve had walked into his life, he’d felt much more alive than he had since he was getting shot at in the desert. Four very long, very lonely years. It might not even be about Steve in the first place, It could just be that he was so hungry for human contact that he just latched onto the blonde. Perhaps anyone else would have had the same effect. 

But if he even mentioned that to Becca, she’d probably laugh in his face and tell him to stop lying to himself. 

Deep in his heart, Bucky knew she’d be right. Steve Rogers was special. And whether he stayed for six weeks or six months, he was going to savor every moment of it. 

As for when it came time to exchange goodbyes… he couldn’t think on that just yet. And he certainly wasn’t going to consider why he was so sad at even the thought of having to say goodbye. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

She was back. 

Since Becca and Jamie had arrived, the mysterious little girl hadn’t appeared even a single time. But now, two days into their visit, she stood hovering at the edge of the forest, watching as Jamie searched for insects, Loki trailing along after him on a small harness and lead made of thin rope braided together tightly to avoid harming the small kitten. He’d turned the care of the little kitten over to his nephew, who had taken on the responsibility with conscientious diligence. 

As he watched, Jamie spotted the little girl. He’d told both Becca and Jamie about his young visitor, so Jamie wasn’t surprised by her sudden appearance. And though the children were too far away for him to hear, he could tell that he was talking to the girl. When he began walking towards her, Bucky prepared himself for her sudden and inevitable departure. 

But, much to his surprise, the girl stayed and didn’t run. When Jamie got closer, the girl even moved out from behind her tree, taking a few tentative steps toward the boy. Well, he mused. So, the secret to getting her to come out was another child around her age. Bucky was confident that if anyone would be able to draw her out, it’d be Jamie. The boy had been gifted with the Barnes charm and ability to talk about anything. If he couldn’t earn the girl’s friendship, he doubted anyone ever would. 

Side by side, the contrast was amazing. Jamie wore clean play clothes, sized to fit his small frame. But the girl was dressed in the same dirty, yellow sundress he’d first seen her in, still hanging awkwardly large on her slight frame. While Jamie was small, he still looked well fed and cared for, but the girl seemed as though she wasn’t getting hardly enough if any food at all. It was difficult to suss out exactly how old she was, but now that she stood next to Jamie, a healthy five-almost-six-year-old, he thought the girl couldn’t be more than a year older. 

Jamie held out the little plastic container of bugs to his new friend, and rather than lean away in disgust like most girls had when Bucky was their age, she leaned forward for a closer look. Then, with a nod and a pointed finger at the toolshed, Jamie had begun to walk off. Making it no more than five feet away, he stopped to turn back and motion the girl to follow him. Bucky could see the indecision in the girl's body language -- making it clear to him that she was stuck between wanting to accept and wanting to stay in the trees. Finally, with one last furtive glance back at the tree line, she ran after him. The children had to pass by where Steve was laying out cut bits of lumber for the walls on the ground around the drying cement. While Jamie didn’t hesitate to run straight past him, the girl made a wide circle around the opposite side of the cement to avoid him. 

Surprise was apparent on Steve’s face as he noticed the children walking past. He looked back towards the house, almost as if he was looking to make sure Bucky was seeing this. Smiling when he caught sight of Bucky, sitting at his little patio table with a notebook laid out in front of him. And though he hadn’t said anything about it, Bucky could read the “looks like there’s been a breakthrough. I know you’ve worried about her a lot.” Bucky sent him a smile in response. 

Then he scolded himself for reading too much into his expression. For all he knew, Steve could have just been glad the boy had found someone else to hang out with. But, he knew that his interpretation of the look was correct. And that made him happy. Almost too happy. He didn’t want to make his happiness reliant on someone else, especially someone like Steve, who would soon leave to continue on his way. For the three years he’d lived here, he’d been self-contained, finding happiness and contentment in his writing and his gardening. He didn’t want that to change. Not even for a man like Steve Rogers. 

Yet, it was. For some odd reason Steve’s arrival had shaken up Bucky’s content little corner of the world. Stirred up feelings that he hadn’t even been sure he was capable of having any more. Feelings that left him far more restless than he’d ever been, giving him the sense that he was missing something in his life. Something that was more unsettling the more it grew. 

And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing he could do to stop it. 

*** 

When they’d come to gather for lunch, Becca had had to call for Jamie four times and use his full name before he responded at all. 

“Lunch is ready, James.” She motioned him forward, trying to get him to join them on the porch. 

Quickly moving back inside, he came back out scant seconds later, dragging the reluctant little girl out with him. 

“Mom, can Anna eat with us?” he yelled over, still holding the little girl’s hand. 

Just then Bucky stepped out onto the porch carrying a medium sized pot of freshly made baked potato soup, made with the thickly cut bacon from the butchers and farm grown potatoes that Becca had picked up that morning at the little farmers market one town over. “Of course, she can,” she responded. “We’ve got plenty. Come sit, hon.” 

Indecision flickered once more across her face, and Bucky held his breath. When the girl took a step towards them, he released it in one great whoosh of joy. 

But the joy was short lived. As soon as she’d taken her next step, Steve appeared from around the corner. She quickly pivoted her body, wrenching her hand from Jamie’s, and sprinted back across the field towards the forest. 

Shoulders drooped in disappointment, Jamie walked slowly to the porch, getting there just as Steve did. 

“Hey, Buddy, where’d your friend go?” 

“She doesn’t like grown-ups, I guess,” the little boy shrugged, his shoulders uneven as though he was trying to mimic something he’d seen done. Loki followed dutifully -- leash dragging across the ground -- as the little boy trudged up the stairs. 

As they settled into their seats, Bucky turned his attention to Jamie as his sister filled their bowls. “Did you say your friend's name was Anna?” 

“That’s what I call her. Cuz she’s pretty like the movie Anastasia.” Jamie said, huffing little breaths over his soup to cool it. Steve had begun eating large spoonful’s already, he noticed. 

“Didn’t she tell you her name?” 

“No, she doesn’t talk.” 

Bucky tilted his head as he took a bite of his own soup. “What do you mean, she doesn’t talk?” 

The little boy shrugged, sticking the spoon in his mouth when he’d deemed it cool enough. “She doesn’t talk. But Loki likes her, he was purring lots and lots when she pet him.” 

“You’re saying, she didn’t say one word?” Bucky asked, stopping his eating so he could study Jamie. 

“Nope.” 

“That’s just odd, normal kids never stop talking.” 

“I guess she just didn’t have anything to say.” Jamie said in a matter-of-fact tone. This boy was far too smart for his own good, that was for sure. 

So much for learning more about the girl, Bucky thought. If anything, her interacting with Jamie brought up more questions. Why wouldn’t she talk? Could she? Why was she so skeptical of adults? Why was Steve so frightening to her? It couldn’t have been his size, considering she was less wary of Bucky. 

Answers had yet to be forthcoming. But Bucky was determined to find them -- he’d just rather it be sooner than later, in case she needed help. 

*** 

Between going whale-watching, day trips down to the nearby beach, and short hikes in the surrounding state parks, Jamie spent every spare moment with Anna while Becca observed them between bouts of catching up on her reading. Though Jamie tried his hardest each day to coax her, the little girl never stayed for lunch. 

Then Bucky had an idea. If the girl felt uncomfortable joining them at the house, they could take their lunch to her. “What if we had a picnic under that big tree today?” she suggested to Becca and Jamie that morning at breakfast. “Since you won’t be here for lunch tomorrow, we should make your last special.” 

“That's so cool, Uncle Bucky.” Jamie yelled excitedly. “Can we mom? Can we?” 

“Fine by me, as long as I get some pillows to sit on.” 

“Mom’s old so she can’t sit on the ground.” Jamie said seriously at his uncle, causing him to laugh. 

“Well thanks a lot, Jamie!” She responded playfully. 

“No, buddy, I think it’s cuz she’s growing a baby,” Bucky added. 

“Tell ya what, your Uncle Bucky is old too. Older than even daddy!” 

“But Daddy is so old.” The adults laughed at the young boys grossed out expression. 

And so, as it began to reach one o’clock, Bucky and Becca loaded up a picnic basket and cooler and set out across the field to the large oak near the forest’s edge. Steve followed a few minutes later carrying a fold out card table and its chairs. While Becca and Steve set everything up, Bucky took a small blanket and laid it out a few yards away. 

“What’s that for?” Becca queried. 

“Figured Jamie could get Anna to stay if they were a little bit away.” 

“She’d probably join you if I wasn’t around. I could go eat at the house,” Steve offered, watching as Bucky laid out a few of the basket’s contents on the blanket. 

“No, no. I wanna see if this works.” 

“Alright, all set.” Becca surveyed the table, then yelled out for Jamie. 

“Be right there, Mom!” he poked his head out from behind the tool shed and waved. Steve had given Jamie some scrap lumber the previous evening and showed him how to sand and measure the wood, and Jamie had, in turn, shared this new knowledge with Anna. The kids had been busy all morning making sure that Bucky would have the perfect shelf for his new office. 

A few minutes later he appeared, Anna’s hand still clasped in his own small one. Since they had picked a spot so close to where Anna usually entered and exited the forest, she’d have to walk near them to leave. He hoped that when the little girl saw the separate blanket and food, she’d be enticed enough to stay. 

When they drew close enough for them to hear without his shouting, Bucky spoke. “I set a little place for you and your friend over there, if she wants to stay a bit longer.” He waved his hand at the blanket on the ground. We have plenty of chicken, and fried rice, and watermelon. And I made brownies for dessert.” 

“Uncle Bucky cooks good,” Jamie said, tugging her by the hand to the blanket. “Come on! When we get done we can go play with Loki and build the shelf more.” 

When the girl dug her heels in, Steve moved to sit in the chair facing away from the blanket, putting his back to the children. Touched by his actions, Bucky sent him a grateful look, smiling at him as he took his own seat. 

Once they were all seated, Anna seemed more inclined to stay for lunch, though her posture was in marked contrast to Jamie’s. His nephew had plopped down and reached immediately for a leg, his focus on the seagulls that flew in a large flock overhead, Anna kept a close eye on Steve, crouching on her knees in a way that would allow her to bolt if she felt threatened. 

She eventually relaxed as the meal continued to drag on. The tense line of her shoulders disappearing as she ate, Bucky was astounded by the sheer amount of food she put away. Jamie had made his way over to the table to grab more food twice already. 

Though he was glad that the girl had come closer, he suspected that he’d need to find an effective way to maintain her comfort level after Becca and James had left. Maybe Loki? If She was willing to come play with the little kitten, then perhaps…. 

“Kendra! I been lookin’ fer you everywhere! Git on back to the house now!” 

Startled out of his thoughts by a rough, heavily accented voice, Bucky turned. A large, grizzled old man stood just inside the forest, his torn and grimy clothes hung awkwardly on his burly frame. His face was twisted in anger, beard overgrown, and greasy blonde hair hung limply and uncombed atop his head. 

In the few seconds it had taken for Bucky to assess the threat this man posed, the girl had already sprung to her feet and raced back towards the forest. He looked to the little girl, noting the sudden fear in her posture and expression before her features fell flat and emotionless. Her expression reminiscent of a tamed horse, beaten and starved into submission. 

As the girl darted into the woods, her half-eaten brownie forgotten, Bucky began to rise. But Steve pressed his hand firmly on his shoulder, pressing him back down into his seat. He then stood to face the older man, posture daring the man to lay a hand on the girl as she sprinted past. Bucky stood as well despite Steve’s prompting to stay seated. 

Whether the man intended to hurt the girl or not was uncertain. But if he had entertained such thoughts before, the two men’s imposing figures stopped him. After a brief, defiant glare, he turned back into the woods muttering as he went. 

For a few minutes after, silence hung over the group. Jamie had moved to stand behind his mother’s chair, clutching his own, now squashed, brownie in his small fist. “W-who was that?” 

Becca put her arm around her son, pulling him closer and nuzzling her nose into his short hair. “I dunno, hon. But he’s gone now, you can sit over here with us until we’re all done okay?” 

Except it seemed that everyone had lost their appetites, Steve noted with a sweeping glance. The brownies lay untouched on the white paper plates, a heavy silence hanging over the table. Jamie was scared and upset, Becca was holding both her son and pregnant belly protectively and shooting her brother a concerned look, and Bucky’s own distress was clear on his face and in his jerky movements. Someone needed to defuse the situation, and it seemed that the task had fallen to him. 

Smiling gently, he patted Jamie on the back. “Why don’t you go show your mom that shelf you built while your uncle and I clean up?” 

Becca seemed relieved as she prompted her son to do just that. “That sounds like a great idea, Jamie.” 

She stood and reached for his hand, but Jamie didn’t immediately grasp her hand. He stared at where the girl had disappeared, face troubled. “Is Anna gonna be okay?” 

Bucky crouched in front of the young boy. “I think her name is Kendra, Buddy. And that was probably her Grandpa. She must have been late for lunch and he came to look for her.” His explanation was weak, laced with worry, but he hoped that Jamie would leave it alone. He didn’t want his nephew to be distressed by the encounter as the adults all were. 

“He looked mad.” Jamie looked worriedly at the woods, “and he didn’t look like a grandpa.” 

Picturing Rob’s jolly, and nurturing parents, Bucky could see where the boy was confused. 

“You can’t always judge people by how they look,” Steve added. When Bucky looked back at him, he was disconcerted to find him staring at him rather than at Jamie. “He might be very nice, and just looked angry because he thought she was lost and hurt.” 

“Maybe.” The boy didn’t seem convinced, but he wasn’t as upset as before. 

“So, the shelf?” 

“Yeah, I guess I can show you. Steve said he’s gonna teach me how to put nails in. He said that Uncle Bucky could put his stories on it, or a picture of me so he doesn’t forget our visit. And….” 

As his voice faded as they walked towards the shed, Bucky let out a shaky breath and turned to look at Steve, finding that he was already looking back. 

“I didn’t like the looks of that.” He said. Voice quiet, eye’s hard. 

“Me either.” 

“And you only noticed the girl the day I came?” 

“Yeah, late that afternoon. I hadn’t even seen the man until today, though Edith at the grocery store told me there was an ‘old hermit’ living on the property adjacent when I first moved here. 

“No mention of a kid?” 

“Absolutely none.” 

“Must be new, then.” 

Bucky wanted to cry. But he blinked back the stinging in his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. “She obviously needs help. But what can we even do?” 

“Can’t really do much unless we have proof,” Steve remembered how the children from the orphanage down the road from his childhood apartment had looked. And later when he had volunteered to teach them art, he’d seen that these situations were never easy. Or pretty. 

“We don’t have that.” 

“I know.” 

“So, what do we do?” 

“Let's see if she comes back. Now that she’d been here, she may warm up to her and talk a little. If she does, she might tell us something that would allow us to call in CPS.” 

Bucky sighed, hoping it’d be enough. “Jamie couldn’t even get her to talk, I doubt she’ll talk to me.” He turned to consider the forest where they’d left. “But I’ll try.” 

Steve hoped this worked. He suspected that Kendra needed all the help she could get. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

For four days after Becca and Jamie had left, Bucky had seen no trace of the little girl. And the longer she stayed away from the house, the more concerned he’d become. Was that old man mistreating her? The question ate at his stomach making him ill with every passing moment that he didn’t have the answer. He didn’t even know where to start to find the answers to all his questions. 

Then, on the fifth morning, as he was putting away his gardening tools in the dark shed, he found Kendra standing in the doorway. Quickly he took in her appearance, noting that at least on the visible parts of her body, she bore no bruises or injury from the older man’s anger. Relief flooded through him. 

“I’m very glad you came back, Kendra.” He gave her a soft smile and gestured to the small rope harness she was holding in her hands. “Did you come to walk Loki? I think he misses yours and Jamie’s adventures, a walk will do him good.” 

The only response he received was a slow, hesitant nod. 

“Good, then I’m happy to turn the job over to you again. He’s gotten a bit bigger in just the past coupla days. I think soon, he’ll be able to start eating dry food. Alright, I’ll be right back with him.” After a few minutes trying to find the kitten and then putting a new, bright green harness on the wriggling kitten, He brought it back outside, tethering its leash onto the railing for the steps. He saw her move closer as he moved back to the door. 

“I’ll just be up here writing, and Steve has gone into Independence for the day. He won’t be back until late tonight. Spend however long you want with Loki.” 

With a lighter heart, Bucky walked back inside his home to grab his notebook and a glass of iced tea. A passing thought about how Kendra had eaten the last two times he gave her food caused him to put together a quick lunch for the girl, hoping she’d eat. Lastly, he added two a slice of leftover coffee cake from lunch the day before. He gathered everything onto the tray and grabbed a little blanket to sit at the bottom of the stairs for her. Now that Kendra was back, he could begin the next step of making her more comfortable and gain her confidence. 

Nearly forty minutes later, Kendra moved back towards the house to loop the leash once more to the steps. She looked surprised at the pile of plastic containers that had appeared on a blanket at the bottom of the stairs. Bucky waved at her to get her attention. 

“I made some lunch,” He gestures to the half-eaten sandwich and pile of chips on his own plate. “And I thought I’d bring some out for you as well. Eat as much as you’d like.” 

When a swift glance around the field proved that they were alone, Kendra sat carefully in a crouched position and reached for the first container. With a small amount of trouble, she popped it open, grabbed a fork, and began to eat the potato salad within. 

Success! She’d stayed to eat, and without Jamie here to prompt her into it. 

To keep up the appearance that he was writing, Bucky wrote nonsense ideas on a few of his notebooks blank pages, all the while carefully observing the young girl. He watched as she first sat crouched, examining every bite of food she took then glancing around as though the angry man would reappear suddenly. Her first few bites of lunch were hesitant like that, but after a few minutes she relaxed and became absorbed in eating her lunch, her face no longer scrunched in fear. It was almost as though she’d forgotten Bucky’s existence. 

And it was good, it gave Bucky the time he needed to scrutinize the little girl without needing to be concerned that he’d spook her. The fact that she wore the same dirty dress she’d worn every other time he’d seen her confirmed the lack of care in her life. But the fact that she held each container close to her body as though she were protecting it from being taken spoke volumes of the neglect she must no doubt be going through. She was so thin and dirty. He had also seen the way she led things close to her face, as though she couldn’t see them, on the days she’d played with Jamie. Why wasn’t someone bathing her, or washing her clothes, or taking care of her obvious vision problems? And wouldn’t any of these things be enough for the authorities to look into her situation? Yet, even if they did, he couldn't provide much information. All he knew was her first name, didn’t even know her address to send authorities to her place. 

He could find out though, he realized. All he’d have to do was follow her today. He’d have to take extra care that she didn’t see or hear him, but with all the shadows and large trees, and the thick carpet of pine needles and leaves the sound of his steps should be deaden, he was certain that he could go without being detected. Eating and playing with Loki occupied Kendra’s attention, for the better part of an hour. But when Bucky mentioned the time, she gave him a startled look before throwing a furtive look at the forest’s edge, almost as though the old man had given her a time to be back. With a noticeable reluctance, she brought Loki to the stairs, attaching his leash to the edge of the railing before looking down at the empty food containers. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, Kendra, I can get those if you need to leave. I’ll put lunch in them for you tomorrow as well.” She stole a wide-eyed look at him before nodding. Then she clasped the waist of her dress, fidgeting with it as she trudged slowly to the woods. 

Bucky waited, stacking the containers and putting Loki away quickly until he followed after. He moved fast but silently as he crossed his lawn to the trees. Once he was only a few feet from the edge, he forced himself to slow his pace to a leisurely stroll, in case she turned back and saw him. He caught sight of her again once he reached the tree line, and turned, angling away from her, making it seem as though he were looking across the field for one of the cats. 

It was clear that he needn’t have worried about Kendra watching him. She had covered some distance, weaving in and out along the trees, maintaining the same slow pace at which she’d crossed the field. If he stayed low and remained in the shadows, this ought to be a cake walk. What else is my stealth training good for now? He thought with a slightly bitter note. 

About half a mile late, his back aching from his crouched position and the straps of his prosthetic rubbing against sweaty skin, knees protesting from the constant up and down as he crouched behind rocks and ducking around trees, Bucky finally hit pay dirt. The house he’d originally thought abandoned, sat ramshackle and leaning. The field around it overgrown and dead, filled with garbage and old, rusted out machinery. When Kendra reached the door, she hesitated. Then, shoulders drooping, she went inside. 

He waited for twenty minutes after there was no sign of life, nor any indication that any harm had come to his young visitor for returning late, it was time to go. On his walk back through the woods, Bucky considered what to do next. It was clear that Kendra was in desperate need of care, was clearly neglected. The trouble was that he’d have to convince authorities of that. And to do so, he’d need to file an official concern -- requiring that he, at least for a while, would need to reconnect with the world. 

While such a thought would have, at one time, made him sick with anxiety, it no longer caused more than a slight hitch in his pulse. He knew that it was because his concern for Kendra outweighed his dislike of the curious and pitying stares of strangers. As to whether the information he had would convince DHS to investigate her situation…. That would prove to be a bigger challenge than simply going to town. When he got home, he’d write a few quick notes to himself, put some thoughts together in a coherent way. And, in the morning, he’d run them by Steve. He wanted to get someone else's opinion, and he’d come to respect how Steve saw the world. Besides, two heads were always better than one. He’d have only one chance to present this to authorities, and he didn’t want to screw it up, especially not when a child’s future was involved. 

In the meantime, he could only hope that she was safe. 

*** 

“Buck? Sorry to bug you so early, but I think there’s something wrong with Kendra.” 

Cradling a mug of coffee in his hand, Bucky stared blearily out the screen door at Steve, noting the deep creases in his brow. Despite having gone to bed at a reasonable hour the night before, he’d been awake when the crunch of gravel announced Steve's return late that night, he’d still been awake at nearly two in the morning when moonlight illuminated his room. And at six, he’d sat in his pajamas at the dining room table, watching as the sun lightened the sky. Watching as it went from deep blue to gray to casting shades of pink and orange through the clouds before settling on a light lilac for the morning. In all, he doubted that he’d caught even a full three hours of disturbed sleep. His concern for Kendra had been too deep and disturbing to permit it, exasperating his own usual night terrors. He felt sluggish as though he was wading through thickened water, he’d already drunk nearly a full pot of coffee in hopes that it would wash away the fog that clouded his brain. 

But Steve’s comment jolted through him like an injection of pure caffeine. His heart simultaneously jumped into his throat and tried to pound its way out of his ribcage, when he spoke it was shaky. “What d’ya mean?” 

“She’s in the shed. I saw her as I walked by. She’s on the floor, and I think she’s crying. I was gonna go in, but I didn’t wanna scare her off.” 

Alarm escalating, Bucky set his mug on the counter and headed outside, disregarding the fact that he was barefooted and only in a tank-top and pajama pants. “I’ll go take a look.” 

“If you need me, I won’t be far,” Steve said, opening the door for him as he approached. 

Bucky acknowledged his comment with a slight nod, then nearly ran to the shed, slowing his pace when he was only a few steps away. 

Once he reached the doorway, a quick glance around confirmed what Steve had said. Kendra sat on the floor hunched over something in her hands, which rested in her lap. Shoulders heaving roughly as quiet sobs wracked her body, tears coursing down her face. 

“Kendra?” 

At the sound of his voice, she snapped her head up, her face stricken. Slowly, with trembling arms, she lifted her cradled hands out towards him. In her hands was a tiny newborn baby bird, it had probably fallen from its nest attempting to fly. 

With an aching heart, Bucky moved to sit beside her. He wanted to comfort her, to give her a reason why such a small thing had passed away. But what was there that he could say? Sometimes there was no explanation for the death of living things, whether they are cherished family and pets, or just an unfortunate passing that one happens to come upon, much like this little bird. 

Knowing words wouldn’t ease her sadness, he did the next best thing. He gathered her in his arms and just held her as she cried. 

At first, Kendra stiffened, as though she was unaccustomed to such displays of affection. But, incrementally her posture changed from resistance to a desperate hunger for consolation as she clung to him, weeping into his neck with deep, wrenching sobs. Shocked at the sounds coming from such a small girl who’d always been mute, he stroked her back and murmured soothing words. 

When at last her crying subsided, Bucky drew back to study the tear-streaked face she turned up at him. As she looked at him, the grief in her eyes suddenly became tempered by another emotion. Surprise, perhaps. Or curiosity. Her attention riveted on the left side of his face, as though she’d never once noticed the scars that lay there. And perhaps she hadn’t, he realized. If she had as poor vision as he suspected, then she may never have seen them from the distance she’d always kept between them. And because he always wore the hat and long sleeves when he went out, and often hid the metal hand in his jacket pocket, she was doubly so less likely to notice them. But at this proximity, there was no way she could miss the scars or missing limb. 

All at once a memory came rushing back to him, of the first time he’d gone out into public after he was released from the hospital. Becca and Rob had wanted to celebrate his clear bill of health and refused to take no for an answer. And though he hadn’t wanted to, it seemed to be important to his sister that they do. And after everything she’d done for him, he hadn’t wanted to refuse her this. 

Things had been fine at first. Of course, his appearance had attracted a lot of attention. Discreet glanced, whispered comments, and the odd “thank you for your service” as he passed, skittering looks whenever he caught another diner staring as they ate. Even the waitress had refused to look directly at him when taking their orders. He wasn’t at all surprised, after all, no matter how nicely he was dressed, or how neatly he’d folded and pinned back his shirt sleeve, he was still missing an arm and the scars on his face and neck were still an angry, noticeable red. It had all been typical of people since he’d woken up. Nevertheless, he refused to let his self-consciousness and discomfort get the best of him. He was here to enjoy dinner with his family, and that’s what he’d do. 

And he had. That is, until a family, the parent’s engaged in a conversation, had walked by with their young daughter in tow. The girl couldn’t have been any older than three or four, a beautiful little girl with long golden blonde hair twisted into little ringlets, looking every bit like those paintings of cherubs that were so famous. The girl had smiled at Becca, and then six-month-old Jamie, but the smile had transformed into a look of absolute horror when she’d seen Bucky. Her sudden panicked cry as she grabbed onto her father’s leg and hid behind him. 

The events that had followed, witnessed by the entirety of a packed restaurant, was forever burned into Bucky’s memory. The mother had reached for her daughter in the confusion, picking her up in an attempt to console the little girl, then turned on Bucky and his family, seeking the cause of her child's distress. When she saw Bucky, her instinctual look of revulsion morphed into one of reproach. As though she were shaming Bucky for looking like some kind of freak show. As though he’d done it specifically to terrorize her child. 

The girl had ultimately been inconsolable, and the family had left the restaurant swiftly -- leaving an awkward, unnatural quiet in the wake of their departure. It took nearly a full minute before people began to resume their meals. Too numb for anything else, he sat quietly, not eating any of his meal, despite Becca and Rob’s best attempts at cheering him. 

Now, as Kendra stared at him with wide brown eyes, he tensed, preparing himself for a similar reaction. Instead, she reached up to touch his scars, shocking him with the tentative way she traced over the raised skin. His knee-jerk reaction was to push away and turn so she wouldn’t be able to see, but he forced himself from doing so. She wasn’t repelled by his appearance, he realized as she moved her hand to touch at the small stump of a shoulder he had left. She didn’t seem to be afraid of them. Kendra’s expression wasn’t quite curiosity, but more like intrigue. But why? 

Seconds later, he had his answer when she stretched out her legs and the insides of her arms, revealing a series of similar scars trailing up her legs and arms. Except hers were round, and even in size. Like his, many were faded, but there were several that were noticeably newer, the most visibly recent being about a month old. There was no question that they were burns. 

He’d seen burns like this on only a few of the children in villages he’d passed through during his tours -- often they were on the children used to trick soldiers into following them into an attack. These burns were deliberate, inflicted as a way of control, to hurt and punish. 

Rage surged through his body, it took every bit of self-control he’d ever had to maintain calm when he asked: “Kendra, Sweetheart, who did this to you?” 

Rather than respond, she crossed her legs Indian style and bowed her head. 

“Honey, you aren’t in trouble. But, Kendra, I gotta know who did this to you.” He asked again, voice softening further. 

Once more, tears welled up in her eyes, but she still didn’t speak. 

A shadow fell across the doorway and they both looked up to see Steve standing there. “Can I help?” He said in a soft tone. Despite his caring tone, Kendra tensed and crowded her body back against Bucky. 

“Maybe, come down to our level?” he suggested quietly. 

Understanding passed over Steve’s face as he dropped into a crouch. “What’s going on?” 

“Ah, she found a baby bird that had fallen from its nest,” Bucky explained, gesturing to where Kendra had placed the tiny bird on a folded tarp, eyes meeting Steve’s. 

Before Steve could respond, a familiar gruff voice rang out across the field, muffled by the shed’s walls, but still distinct. 

“You here, girl?” 

Kendra tensed again, and before Bucky could catch her, she’d scrambled up and ran outside, nearly knocking Steve over in her haste. 

“Want me to go after her?” Steve said, steadying himself with one hand on the ground. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bucky shook his head silently. When he spoke, his voice was still quite choked. “No, but I think I have enough to report to the authorities now.” 

“Concrete evidence of abuse?” 

“Yeah, and recent enough that it should be enough to get someone out here quickly to investigate.” He drew a deep breath as he stood, trying to calm his rage. “She has cigarette burns on her arms and legs.” 

“I take it they’re deliberate,” Steve said as he stood, brushing dirt from the hand he’d used to steady himself. His tone grim, eyes going flat and hard. 

“Yeah.” 

His jaw tightened and clenched. “And you’re sure?” 

“I’ve seen it before when I was on tour. And I know what burns look like.” 

“Then we need to call Child Protective Services… or Social Services, whatever they call it here.” 

His quick and knowledgeable response was surprising to him. Almost as though he’d done this before. 

“I dealt with a couple of abuse situations before the army, in a past life,” he explained in answer to Bucky’s unasked question. 

So he hadn’t only ever been a carpenter or an army grunt, after all. Becca had guessed as much. But, what had he been? Bucky wondered. But right now wasn’t the time to speculate on his tenant’s past. His priority right now had to be Kendra and ensuring her safety. And considering that the studio wasn’t even half done yet, he figured he’d still have a few more weeks yet to satisfy his curiosity regarding Steve. 

*** 

“James Barnes? Clint Barton, Division of Family Services. We spoke on the phone. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. May I come in?” 

Although Bucky recognized the voice of the man who stood on the opposite side of the door, the social worker didn’t quite fit the image of a gentle older man he’d created in his mind. With his tousled blonde hair, athletic build, and casual jeans and tee-shirt, Clint looked to be in his mid-thirties at the absolute most. More importantly, Bucky hadn’t expected to have to actually meet anyone in person. But, if he had additional information about Kendra…. 

“Have you checked on Kendra yet?” 

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.” 

So much for his self-imposed isolation, Bucky reflected, steeling himself for the other man’s reaction as he stepped through the door. Clint seemed hardly taken aback at all, Bucky’s disfigurement not distracting him from his purpose here in the least. After seating himself on the couch Bucky had gestured him to, he immediately got down to business. 

“Thank you for bringing this situation to our attention,” he began. 

“Can you tell me what you found out?” 

The man looked at a notebook he had pulled from his pocket. “A little. The little girl’s name is Kendra Bowden, and the man he’s living with is his grandpa. Who, might I mention, was none too happy to see me.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Comes with the job.” Clint shrugged. “Anyway, even though Mr. Bowden was reluctant to share the information, I managed to find out that the girl has been living with him for the last month. Kendra’s father died some months back, and it seems she was cramping her mother’s style. I also suspect from a few of Mr. Bowden’s comments that Kendra’s mother was quite abusive to her.” Bucky felt sick, who could do such a thing to their own child? 

“And her vision problem? Or the fact that she doesn’t speak?” 

“Mr. Bowden confirmed that the girl hasn’t spoken since she’s lived there, but indicated that she can do so. As for her vision, I agree with you that she does need glasses. I recommended an eye exam and provided him with information for the free clinic downtown, and some paperwork to apply for state health care. But, honestly, I don’t hold much hope that he’ll actually go through with it.” 

Bucky frowned at that, brows creasing together. “So, what next?” 

“All I can do is continue to monitor the situation. For one thing, Kendra should be starting school, come September. Her grandfather wouldn’t tell me her age, but I can check birth records. Other than that, we can’t do anything, there was food in the house, and no evidence that the abuse was continuing.” Clint closed his notepad. 

“But-- but she’s still dealing with the after effects of her previous abuse. She doesn’t speak, which must be because of a trauma! She’s clearly in need of care!” 

“Look, I can see how much you care for her well-being, James -- if I may call you that?” at Bucky’s nod, he continued. “I wish we could do more, I really do. But the way everything is run, I don’t have any grounds to take her from her current home. For now, all I can do is make periodic, unscheduled visits.” 

Gripping his knee, he leaned forward, posture tense. “What about me, is there anything I can do?” 

“Just continue what you’ve been doing. Based on what you said over the phone a few days ago, it sounds like Kendra visits an awful lot. And after meeting you I can understand why she’d want to. I suspect that she finds you kind and nurturing, something she probably hasn’t had a whole lot of -- if any -- in her life.” 

“It isn’t enough.” Bucky’s voice was a whisper. 

“For now, it’s going to have to be.” Clint tucked his notebook into his pocket. “If you see anything else that looks suspicious, give me a call. At any time.” He pulled a business card from a small purple plastic case. “My office, home, and cell numbers are on there. Please don’t hesitate to use them if you need to. And keep caring for Kendra, she sorely needs it.” 

Long after Clint left, Bucky sat in his living room, shoulders hunched together. How could people be indifferent to children? Or, in Kendra’s case, abusive?” He thought about how much love went into raising Jamie, and later the love that would go into the newest baby Proctor as well. Jamie thrived in his environment, laughter coming to him as easily as air. On the other hand, Bucky hadn’t ever heard a real laugh from Kendra, or even a smile. No matter what the state said, it wasn’t right. Maybe her grandpa gave her food, clothes, and shelter, but children needed more. So much more. They needed nourishment for their heart and soul, not just for their body. 

He was still sitting there when a knock came at his back door. Turning to look, he saw Steve standing in the doorway. With a weary sigh, he moved to join him on the porch. 

With one look, Steve could tell something had happened while he’d been in town on a supply run. His stomach began to tie itself into knots. “What’s wrong?” 

Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, Bucky moved to look out over the railing at the forest at the edge of the field. “I had a visit from the social worker on Kendra’s case.” 

“And? What’d he say?” 

“Their hands are tied, they can’t help.” he gave a quick synopsis of what Clint had told him earlier. 

The slump to Bucky’s shoulders tugged at Steve’s heartstrings, it took all of his willpower to push away the sudden, unexpected urge to wrap the other man in a hug. Rather he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and moved to stand by the other man, angling his body so that he could watch Bucky in profile. 

“You tried, Bucky.” 

“It still didn’t do any good.” He choked back the tears that were threatening to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

“I talked to a social worker about Kendra today,” Bucky said before filling his sister in on his discovery of Kendra’s burns and his subsequent call to the authorities. “A social worker paid her grandfather a visit, but couldn’t find any grounds to remove her from his home.” 

“What happens next?” 

“I dunno, he said he’d keep the situation on his radar, and he’s gonna look and see if she needs to be starting school this year.” 

“Sounds like he’s doing everything he can, Bucky.” 

“I suppose. He was nice, hardly even paid any attention to my scars. I guess in her line of work she’s probably seen it all.” 

“Or, and this is just a wild thing to consider, you aren’t as sensitive about it as you were. I’ve been telling you since the beginning, Bucky. Give people a minute to adjust, once they get past the initial shock a lot of them will put your scars aside and treat you like the normal guy you are. You don’t give people enough credit. Steve doesn’t seem to even notice them.” 

“He’s…. different.” 

A couple beats of silence passed between them. “Yeah, I think he is too. Look, just keep doing what you have been for Kendra, and maybe soon the social worker will be able to do something. 

Three hours later, when Bucky saw a light bobbing its way across the field towards his house, assuming it was Steve, he thought back on his conversation with Becca, and what she’d said about the Kendra situation. Wiping his hand on the dish towel he’d hung on his belt loop, he stepped out onto the back porch and walked over to the railing. But as the figure drew closer, he could tell that it was not Steve who was paying him a visit, But Kendra’s grandfather. In the dimmed light of the lantern, the shadows made his already grim features look menacing. 

Before he could retreat back into the safety of his home, the older man made it to the steps, already beginning to ascend them. And when he made it to the top, he planted himself in front of his back door. 

“Look here, boy. You an’ we've got some talking to do.” 

Summoning up his army training, Bucky squared his shoulders, staring him down, “No, I don’t think we do.” 

He took a step closer, continuing as though Bucky hadn’t ever said anything. “I don’t like do-gooders stickin’ their nose into my life. An’ how I raise the boy ain’t nobody’s business but mine, ya hear? Sendin’ the state to check up on me wasn’t smart. It’s hard enough takin’ on some snot-nosed brat without havin’ the authorities buttin’ in an’ askin’ all them nosey questions. You want whats best for the girl? Then you keep yer nose outta my business. Got it?” 

“Is that a threat Mr. Bowden?” Bucky said, imitating all the times he’s had to order around the newer recruits. 

“Call it what you like.” He lifted the lantern a bit higher and peered at Bucky in the dim light. “Say what’s wrong with yer face, an’ where’s yer arm?” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

“Not exactly a looker, are you?” he sneered. “I’ve heard stories about you, the boy the army chewed up an’ spit out. Hidin’ out here like some kinda hermit. I see why now. Can’t be much of a life. Maybe that’s why you go an’ figure you can mess around in other people’s.” 

The venomous words shot through him, making him nauseous with the power they held over him. “Get off my property, Mr. Bowden.” 

Instead, he took another step forward into Bucky’s space and waved the lantern directly at him. It was so close he could feel the heat of it, and he shrank back from it, the heat of it on his face unearthing the memories of flames licking at his face. Thick bile rose in his throat at the proximity. “I don’t take orders from cripples.” 

“Then you won't mind taking them from me” 

At the sound of Steve’s deep voice, the older man’s head whipped around, but he didn’t budge. 

“I believe he said to get off of his property,” Steve told him in curt, authoritative tone. That Bucky had never heard before. “Now. Or I’ll be calling the authorities.” 

For a few brief moments, it seemed like the man was weighing his options. Eventually, without another word, he crushed past Steve, descended the steps, and retraced his route back across the lawn until his lantern was no more than a spec of light in the distance. 

Only when the man was completely out of sight did Steve turn his attention back on Bucky. He was slumped back onto the railing, features masked by the shadows being cast onto the carousel. He could feel the tension radiating from Bucky's body. “Are you alright?” 

The concern that seeped in through Steve’s voice when he spoke was enough to break through Bucky’s last wall of composure. He dropped his head into his hands, and despite all attempts to stifle it, a sob wrenched its way from his throat. The flash backs of his time spent as a POW and the roadside bomb that had killed the people who’d saved him, came more frequently. Causing more sobs to crash through him, he grieved for his lost brothers in arms like he hadn’t ever in the four years since he’d been discharged. 

Earlier that day, Steve had managed to resist his impulse to touch the other man, to console him. This time he didn’t bother trying, he knew he’d be unable to do so in the face of such body wracking sobs. Without stopping to consider anything beyond the fact that he needed to help this man, he followed his heart. In two long strides, he was in front of Bucky. Pulling the brunette close, he wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Cheek resting against the soft hair at the top of Bucky’s bowed head, Steve held him until the shudders running through his body stopped, and he relaxed in Steve’s arms. It’d been a long time since he’d hugged anyone, not since he left the desert behind, his unit hugging him goodbye in the airport as he left to go and surprise Sharon. And even longer still since hugging had evoked anything other than camaraderie. After he’d come home to find Sharon with another man, the world had disintegrated, he’d been so filled up with hatred and pain, he’d never expected to feel anything like this ever again. 

But here he was, experiencing everything all over again. He’d only intended to provide comfort and protection for Bucky, but all at once the emotions flooded him. He’d known he felt attraction to the other man, that much was obvious, but still altogether surprising. But even more so, the amount he found that he’d cared for Bucky far more than he’d thought was mind blowing. 

The revelation that he’d fallen in love with the other man rocked through Steve’s world. When he’d first come to the Oregon Coast, he’d been searching for many things. Answers and peace mostly. But a new life as well, he hadn’t been looking for love or romance, but it seemed as though the world deigned him worthy enough to allow him to try again. And as he looked back over the last month, it seemed that all along, this man had slowly been helping shift him in the right direction toward his resolutions. That here of all places, the end of the line for his journey, he was well on his way to finding a new beginning. 

Although he was stunned by his revelations, this wasn’t the time to brood on them. He’d have time to reflect later. But for now, Bucky needed comfort. He’d seen the look of terror on his face as the lantern came nearer, this was not terror brought upon because of threats posed by the old man. Later he’d try and figure out when his feelings had changed, and later he could figure out how he’d proceed from there. 

As they stood pressed together on the night darkened porch, Bucky wasn’t quite sure how he’d found his way into the circle of Steve’s arms, face buried in the other man’s neck, listening to his heart beating steady and strong beneath the ear pressed against Steve’s jugular. All he knew was that despite how awkwardly crouched he was in this position, it felt right to be wrapped around one another. It felt good. 

Just a scant few weeks before, the very thought that he’d ever find someone he cared this much about would have seemed ridiculous, not a thought to even waste his time with. As would the suggestion that his self-isolation would be imposed upon by a whole new group of people he hadn’t ever known before -- Steve, Kendra, Clint, Mr. Bowden. That was more callers than he’d had in almost the entire time he’d lived here. After three long years of watching the world move from the sidelines, he was finally re-entering it. And it was exciting, but also unsettling. And despite all that, he wouldn’t change the man holding him for anything. He wouldn’t change the events of this past month or even the moment that had lead up to this. 

For as long as he could, he stayed in the circle of Steve’s arms, relishing in the way Steve moved his hand in soothing circles across his back. Enjoying the softly murmured words of comfort that spilled from Steve’s mouth as he nuzzled his chin through Bucky’s hair, the hand not rubbing circles on his back running through his hair. But when he suddenly found himself wondering about how it’d be like to kiss him, he took a step back with a deep, calming breath. 

Rather than letting go completely, Steve gripped his shoulders, scanning Bucky’s face in alarm. “Are you alright, Buck?” 

“I-I’m okay now.” he could barely force the words past his lips, they came out shaky and cracked. 

“You don’t sound okay.” he narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Bucky for any injury. “You aren’t wearing your arm. What’d he do before I got here, I saw him shoving that lantern in your face.” Steve was quiet, almost too quiet as he chewed over how to ask if the man had hurt Bucky before he arrived. Objectively, he knew Bucky could probably take care of himself, even with only the one arm. But he couldn’t help but worry over the other man’s well being. He couldn’t find a good way to phrase it, and so he just asked. “Did he hurt you before I got here?” 

“No. My knight in shining armor appeared just in time.” Bucky responded trying to laugh the situation off. Plucking at a reflective bit on part of Steve’s tight tee-shirt. He could tell by the way Steve stared at him that his joke wasn’t working. “How’d you know there was a problem?” 

“I saw the light moving across the field as I was coming back from a run, knowing that you don’t get a whole lotta social visits and where the light was coming from, I hazarded a guess.” His back was facing the back door, the light coming from the house only casting shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable. “You gonna be alright here alone tonight? I don’t think he’ll be back, but I could camp out here for the night if you’d like.” he didn’t mention that he knew tonight would undoubtedly be a bad night for his own PTSD, not even mentioning how bad Bucky’s probably would be. 

Bucky was sorely tempted to accept his offer. Every ounce of him wanted Steve to stay, but he knew that now that the grief had been reopened, he would spend the majority of his night avoiding sleep as to avoid his surely exasperated nightmares. Steve would do much better in the real bed at the guest house across the field anyway. 

“No, I’ll be fine. But would you like to come in for some tea or coffee before you go?” he owed him that at the very least, and hopefully his delayed departure would help to settle some more of Bucky’s nerves. 

Did he hesitate? Or was he just imagining things? “Sure, I could use a cup.” 

He walked around Steve to the door, holding it open for Steve to pass through the threshold first. He bolted the door as they walked through, and gestured to the dining room table. “Make yourself at home, It’ll only be a minute.” 

As he busied himself at the sink filling the electric kettle, he realized that this was the first time Steve had been invited in for anything other than carrying dirty dishes or to deliver news on the progress of his little office. Their afternoon meals were always held on the porch. Somehow, having him sitting at his dining table introduced a new feeling of closeness to their relationship. Not a good feeling to have, considering the inappropriate direction his thoughts had wandered towards. 

“Anything I can do to help?” His voice was so near, breath hot on the back of Bucky’s neck, he had to force himself from showing how startled he was. He was usually hyper aware of where Steve was whenever he was around, how had Bucky gotten so distracted that he hadn’t realized the man had been near enough to touch? 

“No, that’s alright, I’ve got it. Go on and sit down.” Steve moved away, still watching Bucky closely. 

When he joined Steve a few minutes later, he’d managed to get his breathing under control. Sort of. 

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Steve said. 

What could that mean? Bucky wondered, staring at him in silence. Sorry he’d held him? Or sorry that Bucky had been frightened? 

“He’s a pretty scary guy. When I saw that light crossing the field I didn’t want to take any chances. Even if you can take care of yourself.” 

Oh, he was still talking about Kendra’s grandpa. Okay. good. That, he could handle. Wrapped his hand tightly around the porcelain coffee mug. “I’m glad you came over. He’s not really all that scary on his own. But I don’t know if he’s dangerous or not, and I don’t keep weapons in the house,” a choice he’d made once when he’d nearly stabbed his brother-in-law upon being woken up abruptly. I was fine until he started putting the lantern in my f-face.” 

His voice broke as he remembered some of the things it’d triggered. Steve’s first reaction was to reach for him, to pull him back in for comfort. He knew how bad it could get sometimes, but he doubted he really knew the full extent at which Bucky felt these horrors. So he pulled himself back, wrapping his own hands around his own mug. Bucky’s pinched features and the tremors that were causing bit’s of coffee to slosh over the edge of the mug told him that the lantern had been the trigger of something far more traumatic than he’d first thought. He knew about his own struggles with PTSD, and even that was mostly the depression and anger. But to have such a strong reaction to a trigger, and for Bucky to react so emotionally to it, it made him wonder if this had been the first time he’d experienced that specific trigger. 

Bucky played with his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as he traced his index finger along the mouth of the cup. “You’ve never asked about why I’m…” he gestured to his left side. 

“Figured, if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me on your own.” 

Did he want to tell him? Bucky wasn’t sure. He hadn’t talked about it to anyone, not in full at least. His sister had known the basics, he’d been part of a group taken prisoner for about a month, and that the unit that had rescued him and the other men and women in his unit. And even then telling Becca even that much had been while he was under do many painkillers to keep the excruciating pain away, that he hadn’t even realized how loose the pain had made his tongue. But that had been it. He’d buried everything about that time deep within himself, trying to lock it behind ten-inch thick steel walls. 

Refusing to put the horrors he’d suffered into words hadn’t stopped the nightmares, however. But, he’d managed them fairly well, and beaten them back far enough that they rarely showed themselves anymore. He’d dealt with everything the best he’d known how, he’d pushed himself forward, into building a new solitary life, with a career as far from the war as he could get, despite the Army’s offer for him to work in intelligence. And over the passing year’s he’d begun to feel less raw over the whole thing. Why bother dredging up such a painful thing for a man he barely knew? 

The answer was simple, and not surprising to Bucky in the least anymore. Steve Rogers had blown past all of his defensive walls. He’d not only earned Bucky’s trust, but he’d been able to make Bucky forget how disfigured he was-- much like Becca had implied. When Steve looked at him, he saw him -- not his scars and not the metal claw he was stuck with as a hand. Bucky saw someone with whom he could potentially return to being the way he’d been before with. 

More than that, he could tell that the things that had hurt him, everything he’d suffered through mattered to him. That he actually cared, not just the passing pity so many others felt for him. And if he cared in such a way, didn’t he deserve to know? 

The debate rolling around inside of Bucky’s mind showed on his face, giving Steve a chance to see what he was thinking. He watched as Bucky seemingly fought back against the demons that had held him isolated for so long, hoping that the man would find the courage to share with Steve everything he’d gone through. At the same time, he feared that this man’s story would only cause him to fall deeper in love with him, make it so that he would hardly be able to leave when Bucky’s hospitality ran dry. He hoped that he’d be able to deal with everything as it came. 

“It isn’t a nice bedtime story,” Bucky started hesitantly. His eyes searching Steve’s for any hint of rejection. 

“I’m not planning to go to bed for hours yet.” Their gazes held, both remaining steady. 

Lifting his mug, he took a long drink, setting the mug back on the table before standing. “Wait here for a second.” 

Had Bucky decided against telling his story? Steve watched as Bucky moved to the bookshelf in the front room. After a second's hesitation, he pulled a what looked like a photo album from the bottom shelf. He flipped through it quickly as he walked back to the kitchen, before settling it on the table in front of him. 

Steve pulled the album closer to study the photo that Bucky had indicated to. The way it was, it nearly looked like a family photo. The picture was of a large blond-haired man kissing the cheek of a laughing brunette man on the Brooklyn bridge. The blonde’s hands holding visibly pulling the brunette up towards him. A small blonde girl about seven sat on his shoulders, ducking her head to plant a kiss on short brown hair. The brunette had one arm around the man, and his other holding tightly to the girl’s leg. They were all dressed in matching black pants and Blue shirts Upon closer examination it seemed the brunette man was a much younger Bucky. 

But this certainly wasn’t a version of Bucky he’d ever known. Not because his face and body were whole, unscarred, and so lovely that it took his breath away. Bucky did that now. No, it was his eyes that held Steve’s attention. Still the color of the stormy sea, they shone through with innocent happiness, life, and love, reflecting back a pool of joy that had not yet been shattered by the harsh cruelties of war. Seeing Bucky like this, radiant and young, unaffected by the war, it left Steve almost speechless. He wanted his whole focus on Bucky’s story so he asked about the people in the image. 

“How old…?” 

“Twenty-two. I’d already been in the army for a year or so by then. He was nearly thirty and had already gotten out. This was one of the last photo’s we took together.” 

“That his daughter?” 

“No, that was Jensen’s niece. Last I heard though, he’d gotten together with a guy from his old unit.” Bucky paused. “He didn’t want to have to worry that I’d not come home, so we split up.” He continued, watching as compassion flitted across Steve’s face. It was as though he understood his pain, before even having said anything about the years that followed. As though he’d walked in Bucky’s shoes, and knew that the road had been difficult and full of hardships. Steve sat quietly waiting for Bucky to continue. 

“After him, I didn’t bother with relationships. I knew the risks, but I didn’t want to subject a partner to that kind of worry. Anyways, this photo was just to show you that I haven’t always been like this.” Bucky gestured vaguely to the space around him. “I’ve only been out for just over four years. I’d been captured as a POW for about a month or so before the accident. When I was found, I had been starved half to death, dehydrated, and could only recite my name, rank, and whatever I’d seen on my dog tags.” 

He tried to take another drink of his coffee, only to find that his hands shook so bad that liquid sloshed out as soon as he lifted the mug from the table, leaving a dark splash across the oak surface. He took care when setting it back down onto the table. “Anyway’s, I guess there hadn’t ever been a plan in place to come get us. They announced us all as MIA because they didn’t have bodies to confirm we were dead. They got wind that some big wig terrorist guy was supposed to be at the place we were held, they didn’t even know we were there. So, they stormed in.” he drew in a shuddering breath, remembering the firefight, and how many of his unit had been killed during that month and those that hadn’t even made it out to the Humvees. 

“Eventually, They got the all clear. Those of us that were injured were being taken care of. Beyond the starvation and dehydration, I was physically fine. I wasn’t a priority. About two miles outside the base, the humvee in front of us came under fire, because I was relatively fine I grabbed a gun and returned fire. Nobody even saw it, But they’d set a bomb under the sand where we’d all pulled over. The explosion knocked some of us back, but over half of the people we had were too close to the vehicles.” He looked down at the puddle of coffee he’d not yet cleaned up. 

“I was cut up from the shrapnel pretty bad. And one of the humvee’s doors was pinning my left arm beneath it, still on fire. Icould…-- I could hear sizzling, and I realized that my skin was burning. Then came the pain, so much pain, I thought I was gonna die. And later, when I woke up in the hospital, I wished that I had.” 

The last words were whispered, and so full of grief that Steve had no choice but to reach across for Bucky’s hand. He didn’t even seem to notice, lost in his memories. When he continued, his eyes were flat and emotionless. “At first, they thought I’d be able to keep the arm, except somehow, it got infected and went septic. It closed off a lot of arteries, enough that the tissue had started to die. So, they amputated my arm to save my life. Almost everyone involved died, and of the ones that survived, the rest only had scars from the shrapnel. No one else lost a limb or was burned.” 

“But you were.” Steve’s voice was ragged, and he reached out to touch the scars on Bucky’s face, much as Kendra had done before, fingers gentle. 

Startled by his touch, Bucky nodded. “Second and third degree burns on the entire left side of my body. I lived with Becca in Portland that first year, with how many surgeries and appointments I had. I’ll never be able to repay her for everything she’s done for me.” 

“I expect you would have done the same for her.” 

That was true. They were family, and that’s what families did. But that didn’t diminish the gratitude he felt towards his sister and her little family. “She was a rock And got answers for me that I was too injured to seek on my own. She handled all the paperwork for me, and even made sure the army was going to pay me for the month I’d been missing, and everything else myself, and everyone else who’d been caught in the explosion were due.” 

Tears began to run down Bucky’s face again, this time silently. Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand in reassurance that he was here, and that Bucky was safe from harm. Tears streamed down his face as he talked a bit about the abuse he’d been dealt while being held prisoner, how he’d volunteered to take the punishment that was to be doled out to the others in his unit. 

When his tears had dried, and his voice sounded thick with tears, Bucky finally squeezed Steve’s hand back. “You…. you’re the first person I’ve told everything to.” 

Surprised, Steve looked up at the other man. He wanted to ask why, then thought better of it, not sure he could handle it, sure that it would only make things harder when Bucky made him leave. 

When no response was given, Bucky looked at him uncertainty in his eyes. “That was a lot, probably much more than you wanted to know.” he pulled his hand back and wiped at his eyes. 

“No.” Steve ran his hand along Bucky’s scars once more, fingers tracing the smooth craters left by the extra scar tissue. He reached and took Bucky's hand in his once more. For a few minutes, they sat just like that, quietly, with hands clasped in the center of the table. 

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me, Bucky.” He stood, forcing himself to let go of Bucky’s hand, before moving towards the door. He paused on the threshold. “Good night, Bucky.” 

“Good night, Steve.” he rose and joined Steve by the door, expecting him to exit immediately. Instead, he stood there, a hard to read expression clouding his face. Gratitude was clear in his eyes, but it was colored with some other, deeper emotion he didn’t quite know what to identify it as. But it ran deep, and so full it seemed to overflow, seemingly enough that it washed over him and filled his own heart with it. His eyes widened in realization as their eyes locked. Mesmerized, he watched Steve’s Adam's apple bob with a hard swallow. Bucky licked his lips, suddenly nervous, watching as Steve tracked the movement. 

Several beats of silence followed as they continued to stare silently at one another. It seemed as though Steve had begun tilting towards Bucky, then all at once he was turning and fumbling with the door’s lock. “Sleep well, Buck. See you tomorrow.” His voice was rough, as though he were trying to push something down, and as unsteady as a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time. 

Hand’s trembling, Bucky managed to shut and lock the door before collapsing against it. He knew, without a doubt, that Steve Rogers had wanted to kiss him. He also knew, without a doubt, he’d have let him. 

A surge of longing coursed through him, and he struggled against it. Steve wasn’t going to be here forever, eventually, he’d decide to leave. And Bucky figured he could never miss something he’d never had. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

“Steve! It’s good ta hear from ya, son.” 

The affection in his father’s voice was unmistakable, and Steve smiled. “Thanks, Da. Sorry, it’s been a whole week. I’ve been busy with the office.” 

“How’s that coming?” 

“Great. Things move a little slower this far out, though, so it takes a while to get some of the other crafts people out to the property. But we’re gettin to be about half done.” 

“Glad ta hear it. Everything else okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, well, I think so.” 

Two beats of silence ticked slowly by. “Want to tell me about it, son?” 

The man had the uncanny ability to pick up on even the most subtle vibes, Steve acknowledged with a shake of his head. In fact, growing up, he’d often believed the man to be a mind reader. And if he were to ever give an example of why this would be one of them. In all honesty, hadn’t he wanted his da to ask such a question anyway? His da had always been a great sounding board, and Steve could use some feedback right around now. It’d been a few days since their almost kiss, and despite Buck continuing as normal, Steve was still tied up in knots about it all. 

“ Never could get anything past you, could I, Da?” 

The older man chuckled. “Oh, I expect you managed ta slip a few things past me through the years.” 

A grin lifted the corners of Steve’s mouth. “Not many. And for sure, not this time ‘round.” he stopped, trying to figure out how to put into words the jumble of emotions he was feeling. In the end, he decided to start with Sharon. “I’ve been… I talked to Sharon, Da.” 

On the other end of the line, Seamus O’Connor closed his eyes. Please God, let him be at peace. “Tell me about it.” 

“I haven’t forgiven her, but, I’m past it now. Well, mostly past it. But, I can talk to her without wanting to scream now. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. I just wondered if I’d left one of my sketchbooks in the basement, and before I knew it I was having a conversation with her, almost as though we’d never divorced.” 

“That’s the best way to move on. Do you have a little more closure than you did before, now that it’s been so long?” 

“A little, but I’m still hurt. But I also think that maybe… maybe, she just knew earlier on that we weren’t the perfect fit that I thought we were.” 

“I’m happy to hear that you’re calmer about this. You’re a good man, and it hurts to see you hate someone so much.” 

“Yeah, Buck is big on forgiveness. Maybe we don’t gotta like what happened, but at some point, we’ve gotta forgive and not wallow in the past. Or, well, that’s what he says anyway.” 

Interesting. It seemed like his landlord had had quite a hand in Steve’s change of heart, Seamus reflected. Even better. Thank you, Lord. “He sounds like a smart man.” 

“He is. Someday I’ll tell you all ‘bout him.” But not today, Steve decided suddenly. He needed to sort through his feelings for Bucky on his own first. 

“I’d like that.” 

“I’ll try and call again soon. Love you, Da.” 

“Love ya too, Steve. I’ll talk to ya again soon.” 

As Steve hung up the phone, he realized he’d reverted back to their old sign-off, with him initiating it, no less. He hadn’t been able to even think of the word love in any context for the last two years. 

It felt good. 

*** 

“Steve! Wait up!” 

Still deep in thought about his conversation with his father, Steve didn’t realize at first that someone had been calling out to him. But when the voice finally registered, he halted in his walk to the side street where he'd parked his car. Turning he saw Charlie Nyman heading his way. Despite the electrician’s laid back manner, the man knew his stuff. He’d already been out to the office twice to lay out the wiring and was set to come out once more to do one last hook up and check before Steve began hanging the drywall. 

“Hey Charlie, how’s it goin’?” 

“Listen, I was talkin’ to some folks the other day over in Newport. They’re gettin' ready to add onto their summer house, and asked if I could recommend any good carpenters. I thought of you right away. You interested in any work? They don’t wanna start ‘til October or November, and I figure you’ll be long done with that office by then.” 

Work. He was being offered paying work. But Steve hadn’t thought that far ahead, only as far as the office being finished. Would he still be here in October? Did he even want to still be here then? 

“I dunno what my plans are yet,” He told the older man. 

“That’s cool. Just think on it. They still have a while before they choose their contractors. Let me know when you need me to come back down to the Barnes place to finish up.” 

With a wave, the man wandered off towards the town’s grocery store. Was this a sign? Steve wondered. Was fate trying to send him a message in the form of such an unexpected job offer? And if so, what were they saying? 

No answers presented themselves immediately. But rather than feeling overwhelmed or panicked, as he had many times the past few years, Steve took a deep breath and moved everything unimportant to the side. He could discuss future plans with Bucky later. 

*** 

“Morning, James. You’re late.” At the sound of Natasha Romanov’s voice, Bucky stilled, turning from where he was looking out to the forest. He’d taken to scanning it several times a day from his back porch, hoping to spot Kendra. But since her grandfather's visit the week before, he hadn’t seen any sign of her. And he was worried. 

“Hi, Nat. I can explain.” As always his editor’s attire was stylish and sleek, complimenting her fair skin and fiery red hair. Today, her long hair was left in long, loose curls to frame her face. Black slacks and white button down, offset by the golden bow and arrow necklace that hung around her neck. 

“I’m sure you can. I’ve brought some cinnamon rolls from the cafe in town. Now get us some coffee, and you can explain why you’re a week late getting me your latest manuscript.” It wasn’t like Bucky had never been late with a manuscript before -- in fact he was notorious for being a day or two late every time--; he’d just never been this late. 

They had a similar conversation to this every time a deadline came up. Natasha just seemed to have a bad habit of showing up wherever she wanted, whether she’d been invited or not. At least she brought pastries every time she showed up randomly, including the first time he’d met her. She’d been following up on a manuscript he’d sent into Shield Publishing, and he’d declined every request to meet in town to discuss a publishing deal and hadn’t ever invited her out to his home. Yet one day, as he was gardening, the woman had just appeared out of nowhere, holding a bag of chocolate croissants and demanding to speak with him about edits that needed to be made on his manuscript so they could publish it. 

Never once had he invited her inside. They’d always chatted on the porch, often the front porch if it was raining, Bucky bundled into his jacket and hat pulled low. But today, he’d been caught without them. While Natasha knew of the scars and fake arm and had seen glimpses of both -- she’d never been exposed to them fully like she was now. He blamed himself, more and more he’d neglected to wear them around the house. Suddenly self-conscious, he bent his head to cover his face with his hair. 

When Bucky didn’t immediately respond, Natasha lowered the bag of cinnamon rolls. “Is everything alright, James?” she asked, voice suddenly intense. 

Bucky hazarded a glance at her. The woman wasn’t paying any attention to his scars. In fact, now that he thought about it, other than a brief flicker of surprise in her eyes when they’d first met, Nat had never given any indication that there was anything odd about them being there. Her reaction was much like Steve’s had been. And Clint’s. 

Maybe Becca was right, Bucky conceded. Maybe some people saw past the disfigurement and would treat him as a normal man if he gave them half a chance to do so. “For years he’d been telling himself that he’d withdrawn into seclusion because he was weary of being treated differently. But all at once, he had the realization that, that hadn’t been his only motivation. Or even his main one. In truth, he thought it was safer if others felt uncomfortable around him. Their discomfort providing him with a wonderful excuse to avoid talking to them long enough that he’d never have to talk about what had happened to him overseas. That, in turn, let him bury his grief and trauma deep into his mind, surrounding them on all sides by thick steel walls. 

And it seemed as though it wasn’t only Becca whose insight was sound, for Steve had hit home with his comment over pizza that first lunch they’d shared together. He had been hiding. Perhaps not for vanity’s sake, but hiding nonetheless. 

But now that he’d shared his memories and trauma with Steve -- and survived \-- they seemed to have lost the amount of power they’d once held over him. They no longer triggered that immediate heart-wrenching anguish that twisted his chest. Armed with that knowledge, he gathered his courage to risk breaking down another wall he’d built. 

“Sorry, I’ve been busy. I can print it out for you now if you’d like? We can grab some coffee on our way up to my temporary office.” 

Surprise flashed briefly across Natasha’s face, followed by a small smile. “Of course, lead the way.” 

A few minutes later, after Natasha had sat down at his dining room table looking over the manuscript with a serious expression on her face, she turned to her client. As always, Bucky’s heart rate kicked up a few notches as he waited for her assessment of his most recent piece of writing. He’d come to greatly respect Natasha's judgment on whether something was trash or best selling. 

“I have to say, James. This is not the work I’ve come to expect from you. This is amazing. While I always enjoy your sci-fi novels, this is much deeper than you usually write. I think we’ve got another best seller on our hands.” Natasha said with a smile. 

Relaxing, he smiled back “Thanks, Nat.” 

“Just being honest, James. Now, coffee?” 

Ten minutes later saw them sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee each. It seemed his table was fast becoming a gathering place. Natasha took a bite of her cinnamon roll and closed her eyes. “Delicious.” 

“I agree,” He said, taking a bite of his own roll. 

When she finished chewing, Natasha leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table next to her little leather portfolio she’d stuck his manuscript in. “I have a bit of good news. Someone from the New York Times would like to do an interview with you. Your last three novels stayed at number one on their bestsellers lists for over six weeks each. And when they heard you were from Brooklyn, well they wanted that interview, even more, they’re willing to send someone here to do the interview.” 

Up until the last sentence, Bucky had been excited. But doing an interview with someone he’d never met? He was only just barely comfortable sitting across from Natasha without his layers of protection, let alone a complete stranger. 

“Look, I know you don’t go out much, James. And I almost didn’t even mention it, but today when you weren’t wearing your layers and invited me in, I thought; well maybe something has changed. In any case, I’d like for you to give it a thought. It’d be good publicity, and would help boost the potential readers for this next book.” 

Torn, Bucky stared at Natasha. He’d never expected to get famous. He’d never expected to make it on the New York Times bestseller list once, let alone make it to number one on that list three times. But if he were to meet this interviewer, and his work became even more popular, next they’d want him to attend book tours with tons of people, and he didn’t think he was ready for that just yet. 

“I appreciate the opportunity, Nat. And all your support. But I just don’t think….” 

The sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden steps interrupted him mid sentence, and Bucky turned to see Steve at the door. 

“Ah, sorry, didn’t realize you had company.” he made to leave but Bucky stood from his spot and moved towards the coffee maker. 

“It’s okay Steve, come in. I want you to meet Natasha.” At her name, she too rose to shake Steve’s hand as Bucky made the introductions. 

“So you’re the man responsible for building James’ new workspace,” Natasha commented lightly, sitting once more. 

“Guilty a s charged, Ma’am.” 

Tilting her head, she studied him. “My husband and I have lived in the area long enough to know most everyone, and I can’t say I’ve ever met you. You must be new to the area.” 

“Yeah, I got here early last month. Buck took me in during the storm that happened the weekend before the fourth, and He let me stay over the holiday, then I stayed on to build the office.” 

“You’re staying here?” Natasha’s eyebrows rose, and she looked at Bucky with speculation. 

“In the guest house,” he said quickly as his face grew warm. 

He was saved from any other talk about Steve’s staying on the property by Natasha’s phone ringing. “Well, that’s me. James, think about what I said,” she walked to the door, stopping briefly to tap her nails against the wooden frame. “Oh, and don’t be late with the next one, or you’ll be the one buying me pastries,” with that she left, answering her phone and snapping into it, leaving Steve and him to their normal routine of a hot afternoon meal. 

*** 

She was back. Bucky stopped sweeping his porch and stared. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating the little girl’s appearance. Disbelieving his eyes when he saw Kendra emerge from the forest’s edge in the days waning light. It had been nearly two weeks since her grandfather’s visit, two weeks of worrying about the girl. And several times he’d picked up his phone to call Clint, to plead with him to do something, anything more than they were doing now. Not that any of that worry mattered now, Kendra was back! 

He laid the broom against the corner of the railing, calling over his shoulder to Steve who was working late, smoothing over the drywall in the office. “Kendra’s here!” 

But Bucky's happiness evaporated as soon as he got a good look at the girl. Panic marred her features, and given how hard she was breathing he guessed that she’d run all the way here as fast as she could. Her palms were scratched and dirty, a long scratch across her cheek, her knees were scraped and bloody. His instincts to protect kicked into high gear as he pulled the girl close, scanning the tree line as his heart pounded harder. 

“You’re okay now, Kendra. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re safe here.” Her thin chest heaved as she tried to gather her breath, and he stroked her back in an attempt to calm her. 

Forcing herself free, she clutched at Bucky’s shoulders, hands convulsing as she tried to force words out, her mouth opening and closing as she did her best to tell him what was going on. He brushed hair that had come loose from her hair tie away from her face, his own anxiety ramping up. “What is it, Kendra? Can you tell me?” 

Her attention shifted over his shoulder. With a half turn, he could see that it was Steve approaching. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, stopping a few feet away and dropping into a crouch. 

“Dunno,” Bucky tried to figure out what could have caused such panic in the girl, but could only come up with her grandfather as an explanation. “Is your grandpa following you, Kendra?” 

She shook her head vigorously, then grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the forest. 

“She want’s us to follow her.” Bucky said, surprised. 

“Buck, I don’t like that idea. Especially after…” 

“Help!” The word had come out croaked and rusty. Startled, Steve and Bucky looked at the girl. When neither reacted, she continued brokenly. “Truck…. Fell!” 

At last Bucky kicked himself into gear. “Is your grandpa hurt, Kendra?” 

Her response was another vigorous nod. 

“Call 911. Where’s the cabin?” Steve asked as he stood quickly. 

“‘Bout half a mile Northeast.” as soon as the words left his mouth, Steve was off, running fast into the woods. 

*** 

Hours later, when car headlights pierced through his living room, did bucky finally leave Kendra’s side. She lay sleeping peacefully on the couch. As he stepped onto the porch, he could see a police car making it’s way up the drive slowly. For a moment, Bucky worried that something had happened to Steve as well. Fear clogged throat and he stopped breathing. It wasn’t until he saw Steve’s large frame exit the police car, did he take another breath. 

With a wave, he turned towards the porch, where the dim porch light illuminated the steps where Bucky had sat. The cop car made a tight U-turn and headed back down the way it’d come, tail lights a flickering red as the driver made their way down the drive cautiously. 

“Rough night,” Steve said, raking his fingers through his hair. Weary lines marked his face, grease and dirt stained his clothes, a long jagged tear in his shirt proof of that. Bucky wished he could pull Steve into a tight hug to comfort him, much like he’d done for kendra earlier. Instead he shoved his hand into his pocket, and stayed where he was. 

“Can I get you some coffee?” 

“No, no thanks. I just wanna sit here a minute. How is she?” He sat gingerly on the steps, every motion careful in his exhausted state. 

“She’s sleeping on the couch. Took a while to get her settled.” Once he had, he’d gotten her to take a bath, washing the grime from her skin and hair. Taking extra time to work shampoo and conditioner through her hair so it wouldn’t hurt when he combed her hair. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve heaved a great sigh and rubbed his palm over his face. “I woulda called, but things got hectic.” 

“It’s fine, Steve. How’s he doing?” 

A pained look crossed over Steve’s face as he clasped his hands together between his knees. “He passed.” 

“Oh.” He looked back at his door, towards where he knew Kendra slept. 

“Yeah, the jack released or something, making the truck fall, pinning him underneath. He was alive but knocked out when I got there. I was able to get the jack back up and get him from under it, but…. He was pretty far gone already. Doc said he had a bunch of internal bleeding and a punctured lung.” 

Bucky couldn’t find it in him to care overly much about the man, he hadn’t approved of him in life, and he wasn’t one to pretend that he liked him in death. But, he was worried for Kendra. Clint hadn’t mentioned any family for her to go to and worried where she’d be moved to. 

“I’m worried for Kendra,” Steve said, voicing Bucky’s thoughts. 

“Me too. I can call Clint in the morning. What will happen to her now?” 

“Foster care I suspect. That’s the usual procedure for things.” 

“And in the long-term?” 

“A lot of kid stay in until they’re kicked out of it at eighteen. Unless they’re adopted that is.” 

Kendra couldn’t go into foster care, she’d already known too much ill treatment and instability in her life for her to thrive in the foster system. She could end up just being passed from home to home like an unwanted Christmas gift. What she really needed was a secure, loving home, a place where he needn’t worry if he was going to get food or new clothes. She needed to be in a place where she could grow and thrive. 

The solution was so obvious, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “I can take her in.” 

In the dark, Steve chuckled. “Knew you’d say that. You gotta be prepared, being approved as a foster parent isn’t easy, Buck. Especially since states prefer two-parent families.” 

“She didn’t have that before.” 

“Yeah, and biological families get away with far too much. But foster and adoptive parents have so many hoops to jump through. Background checks, credit checks, home visits… anything you can think of really. And it can take months.” 

“She doesn’t have months, Steve.” 

“I’m already convinced, but It’s not me that needs convincing.” 

“I’ll call Clint tomorrow.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up okay?” 

“But I’d be a great foster parent.” 

“I know you would. But think about it. As much as Kendra needs love and care, she also needs professional help after everything. Doctors visits, eye care, and visits with a psychologist. That’s just the start of it. It means a lot of trips into Honey Cove and other towns. And dealing with a lot of people all the time.” 

He wanted to say he could handle it, but he wasn’t fully sure. Hadn’t he told Natasha the other day that he couldn’t do the interview because of something similar? And if he couldn’t cope with that, who’s to say he could cope with visiting town for all of Kendra’s needs. His shoulders slumped. “I’m heading to bed, you should do the same” he stated quietly standing. 

“I don’t want to discourage you, Buck. But I want you to think about everything that comes with caring for a child like Kendra.” 

“Yeah.” 

“If it means anything, I think you should go for it.” He’d risen from his seat on the step, the dim light of the porch light illuminating his weary face and golden hair. “I think you can overcome anything you set your mind to, Buck. I believe in you.” 

Bucky smiled as he walked through his front door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

“Clint? James Barnes. I need to talk to you about Kendra Bowden.” 

Sinking into a chair where he could keep an eye on Kendra as she watched one of the Disney movie’s he kept around for Jamie, Bucky combed the fingers of his prosthetic through his hair, the joints of them catching on tangles. He rolled his neck and shoulders in an attempt to loosen his stiff muscles. He’d slept on the floor next to the couch the night before, just in case the young girl woke in the middle of the night. Unlike him, however, she’d slept soundly. But he’d use those hours spent lying awake in the darkness to think and to come to a decision. 

“What’s up, James?” The social worker's tone becoming worried. 

After explaining the event’s of the previous night to Clint, Bucky drew in a deep breath. “I assume you’ll be putting her into foster care. I’d like to volunteer for the job. 

A surprised silence met him on the other side of the line and lasted for nearly a full minute. “That’s a big responsibility, James.” 

“I know that. But I also know that, right now? Right now, what she needs is a lot of love and stability. I can give her both in spades, Clint. Besides, aside from Steve, I’m the only one around here who knows her, and you’d probably have to find somewhere out of town. Wouldn’t it be better to keep her in familiar and comfortable surroundings?” 

“Of course it would be, but there’s a lot more to it than that.” Clint ran down the list of requirements for fostering a child, much of it matching what Steve had said the night before. “Are you up for all that?” 

“Yes.” He said, leaving no room for the social worker to think he was hesitant. He wasn’t in the least. He’d made the decision somewhere around three-thirty that morning as he checked on Kendra in her sleep. He’d decided that it was far past time to leave his self-imposed exile and jump directly back into the mainstream of life. He felt strong enough now to handle his past -- and confident enough to deal with the unkind strangers. If people were going to treat him differently because of his appearance, that was their problem. He had much more pressing things to worry about. Mostly Kendra. 

“Alright. Let’s see what I can do to expedite everything. I’ve already made one home visit. And we’ve talked a coupla times. For now, I can leave her with you, in the care of a neighbor. We have to try and locate her mother, but from what I understand, I doubt she wants to be found. Let me get things rolling and I’ll give you a call in a few days.” 

As Bucky pressed end and placed the phone back onto its charging base, he did have one last fleeting moment of doubt. He shook his head at that. He’d already made up his mind. And Steve believed in him. Those two things were more than enough to tell himself he could do it. 

*** 

The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of activity. Bucky was busy taking Kendra around for medical tests, eye exams, glasses fittings, buying necessities, and counseling sessions -- the latter requiring him to make the forty-five-minute drive into Salem, twice a week. He spoke with Clint quite often, who had informed him that, as she’d had her sixth birthday early the month before, she needed to be enrolled into school. However, both agreed that she wasn’t quite ready for public schooling just yet. Given the trauma, she’d endured and her lack of verbalization, It seemed best that she be home schooled for the first year. 

No family was located, which was altogether unsurprising to everyone. With Clint expediting the paperwork, Bucky became Kendra’s foster parent in hardly any time at all. 

And through it all, Steve acted as a much needed moral support. Often accompanying them on their outings. His presence giving Bucky confidence as he ventured into public and forced himself to return the shocked looks with a smile, making him seem like a warm person rather than someone coldly aloof. To his immense surprise, the majority of people responded with a smile of their own, helping ease his re-entry into society. But, much of his smooth transition could be accredited to the man who’d changed his life by simply accepting him. 

And now Steve did the same with Kendra, slowly breaking down the protective walls that She’d already begun to build. It was understandable that Kendra would have some trust issues, especially considering the abuse that she’d suffered at the hands of her own family. But, It seemed like Steve seemed to have an instinctive ability to know how to work around such things-- and the patience to make the effort. 

As Bucky watched one day from the table on the back porch, Steve’s interaction with the young girl reminded him again of what a wonderful person had stepped into his life that stormy July night. He’d sent Kendra out to pick some of the wildflowers that grew around his house so that he could show the young girl how to make pressed bookmarks. As she carried her little basket back to the house, Steve called out to her from the door of the office. Her steps faltered, and she turned towards Steve wearily, clutching tighter to her basket of plants. 

“Could you help me for just a minute, Kendra? I need someone to help pick the color of the walls. Steve’s tone was light and pleasant, his words a request that she help him, rather than a demand. When he received no response, he tried again. “It sure would be a big help to me, Kendra. Sometimes an extra pair of eye’s can make a big difference.” 

Still, she hesitated, looking back to where Bucky sat on the porch. He pretended to be wholly absorbed in what he was writing, keeping his eyes focused on the pair. After a few moments, she set the basket on the ground and stared at Steve. 

“Bucky chose a bunch of colors, but we only need two. So can you look at these pieces of paper with the color on them and help me pick the best two?” He walked them over to where he’d laid out a bunch of different squares on the porch for her perusal. Once she’d picked up two squares of different tones of blue. He added another task. “You know, I could use a hand measuring this. D’ya think you could help me with that too?” She nodded a bit and took a slow step towards him. 

“If you can hold this end, I can get the numbers I need.” Steve pulled out the tape a bit, offering that side to Kendra who stood a few feet from him. “Great. Can you put it right there next to the door? She moved closer to the spot that Steve had pointed her to, pressing the tape to the wall, shooting Steve a questioning look. “Perfect, Sweetie. Now, go ahead and hold it there for a second.” 

Steve walked with the opposite end of the tape until he reached the edge of the studio. “Just as I thought,” he called out to the girl. “I gotta put in another nail in this siding. You can let the tape go, Kendra. Mind handing me that hammer?” After looking at Steve, then the hammer, she picked it up. This time moving to stand within arm's distance of him to pass it over. 

“Thanks, Kendra.” Steve positioned the nail and gave it a tap. Then took the nail out and flexed his hand, looking at it in concern. “Tell you what, If I hold it, do you think you could get it started for me? I hurt my thumb yesterday, and it kinda hurts still. And you were very handy with the hammer when Jamie was visiting.” He held out the handle towards the little girl and steadied the nail with his right hand this time. 

Each request had drawn Kendra in closer. Each had helped to convince the girl that he wasn’t going to hurt or criticize her, as her family had done. It was just the opposite. Steve was not only building her trust in him, but he was helping the girl to feel like she was helpful, that she had something to contribute. 

Mesmerized, Bucky dropped all pretense of not watching the two’s interaction, he held his breath as he watched her take small cautious steps into Steve's space. When the girl was close enough, Steve spoke quieter, giving her instruction on how the nail needed to be put in. Kendra’s face a study in concentration. Steve passed the hammer to her, and attention focused on the task at hand, she stood holding the hammer with both of her small hands, she swung at the nail. 

Steve didn’t even flinch, even though he knew that even one small miscalculation would have resulted in squashed fingers. Rather, he just smiled and gave an encouraging nod to her, gesturing for her to take another swing. Then another. Only when the nail was secure did Steve remove his hand. 

For day’s Steve had been trying with very little success to ease Kendra’s fear of him. And today’s idea had been very spur of the moment, as he’d seen Bucky and Kendra head to the tool shed to retrieve a basket, He hadn’t even thought it’d work, but he wanted to at the very least try. And judging by the small smile on her face, it had. He glanced up to sneak a look at Bucky but was immediately caught. Bucky sent him a soft smile. The emotions he could read in Bucky’s eyes sent a charge through him. Gratitude, tenderness, approval, -- and a longing so intense that his mouth went dry. For weeks he’d been denying his feelings for the man who’d given him shelter on that stormy summer night, attributing them to gratitude. And when he could no longer deny them, he’d tried to ignore them. 

Steve turned back to his helper and murmured a few encouraging words as she continued to hit the nail into place. Here, with Bucky and Kendra, he felt at home. Like he’d finally found peace, and a family along the way. Each day it was getting harder and harder to even think about leaving. 

As Bucky watched, Steve laid a hand on Kendra’s shoulder. Instead of backing away, the girl stood still and stared up at him, hopeful. Steve smiled as he said something. When he turned to go, the little girl followed without any hesitation, close on his heels, basket of flowers long forgotten. 

And that was fine, Bucky could show her how to press flowers anytime. It wasn’t every day he got to see such a bright and life changing moment as this. 

*** 

In the end, it had been music that finally let Kendra speak. Bucky had been cleaning and had put on an old Nina Simone album, singing along with it as he cleaned. He was surprised when suddenly a small soprano voice joined in. While her spoken words were typically limited to one or two at any given time, it seemed that the girl had an ability to memorize the words and pick up on the patterns and melodies. 

When he mentioned this to Sam Wilson, Kendra’s therapist, he suggested that they include more music in their days, and had immediately added it to his own list of things to introduce into their therapy sessions. 

It took some doing, however, to find the kind of music Kendra enjoyed the most. Bucky and Steve tried several genres ranging from classic rock to pop. A few songs would be added to Bucky’s music list here or there, but nothing really stuck. Until at last, he’d put on one of his old Andrews Sister’s records, and they found that almost anything from the Swing dance era was what he enjoyed most. The Andrews Sisters, Bing Crosby, Orrin Tucker… it seemed like she could listen to them for hours on end. Soon enough she was singing along. Nothing warmed Bucky’s heart like hearing Kendra sing along to whatever record had been put on for her that morning as he prepared meals or worked on his latest book. 

Once She became comfortable with words while singing, she began to use them in speech, as well. And as her confidence grew, her halting singular words gave way to short phrases. He and Steve were still listening out for sentences, but Sam assured them that, with time, those would come too. 

Her school work was also progressing. Bucky had found that She was sharp as a tack and absorbed information and knowledge like a sponge. She loved to learn and read, never fussing when it was time for them to work on school. Both Steve and Clint agreed with him when he said he thought that Kendra would be more than ready for second grade when the time for it came. 

Her night terrors were another thing entirely. His first few nights caring for her had been silent, giving a false sense of security that her trauma wouldn’t affect her sleep. However, a few nights in he’d woken to sobs coming from the room across the hall. It seemed that her exhaustion the first couple of nights had banked the terrors. But once she was well rested, they’d returned full force. 

The night before had been rough on them all. Kendra had been more restless than usual, waking up in tears several times throughout the night. Eventually, Bucky had lain beside her in the guest bedroom, holding her close as she cried herself to sleep, finally quieting for the night, sleeping peacefully. When he dragged himself from bed three hours later, he skipped putting on his prosthetic and dragged himself down the stairs for coffee, eye’s avoiding the bathroom mirror as he passed. He knew he’d find more dark circles and a rats nest of hair. He only hoped that coffee would wake him up some more. 

Half an hour later saw him nursing an over-large mug of black coffee. He looked up at a knock on the door. Steve stood there framed with the orange light of the early morning sunrise. 

“Morning. Coffee smells good.” 

“Help yourself.” Though he’d been here weeks now, and been inside several times, Steve had never entered the house without express permission first. 

Stepping over the threshold, he made a beeline directly to the coffee pot. Stopping in his tracks once he got a good look at Bucky. “You look exhausted.” 

“Rough night.” Bucky shrugged and turned towards the fridge, beginning to pull out things for breakfast. 

Moving to the coffee pot, Steve studied his back, noting the tired slump of his shoulders. Considering how much his life had been disrupted this past couple of months, he wasn’t surprised. He’d welcomed two strangers into his life, taken in a troubled little girl and re-entered society after spending years living on his own in isolation. All the while continuing to work on a novel. It would have been a lot for anyone to take on, let alone someone who’d already dealt with so much in his life. Despite the horrors he’d gone through, he only cared to forgive and forget. Bucky had more Kindness and integrity and courage than anyone else Steve had ever met. 

Soon, the office would be completed. But something else had been started while he worked to build Bucky a place to fill with creativity, he realized. Hope had rooted itself deep in his heart, alongside the love he could now admit to harboring for Bucky. Yet just as Kendra hadn’t been able to release her words until she’d found a way to do so, he couldn't voice these feelings quite yet. At least he couldn’t until he laid his past to rest. It was only then, he knew, that he’d be able to allow himself to fully move on and accept his feelings for Bucky as they were. 

He knew something else, as well. 

It was well past time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 13

As the leaves began to change to red and gold as autumn approached, and the office neared completion, Steve began to withdraw, choosing to spend more time alone. He accompanied Bucky and Kendra less on their outings and often disappeared in the late afternoons for hours at a time. Bucky assumed he was preparing to leave some time in the near future, though he tried not to think too much on that. Or the empty space his parting would leave. Instead, He reminded himself that he had Kendra, and he’d worked so hard to re-enter society. Without Steve’s kind nature and encouragement, Bucky doubted whether he would have ever had the courage to leave his isolated -- and lonely -- existence, and to welcome Kendra into his life in such a way. 

He’d always know that Steve would eventually move on, of course. He’d never promised to stay, and never done anything to suggest that he’d become a permanent fixture in Bucky’s life. After all, he had a separate life somewhere else, a life he didn’t even know anything about beyond its existence. And he carried with him a sadness that went beyond just the army. A sadness he’d never even shared with Bucky. Hadn’t that been what drove Steve to the West Coast in the first place? He’d been running from -- or toward -- something when he’d appeared on Bucky’s porch. And while the pain in his eyes had abated somewhat in the past few months, it certainly hadn’t gone away completely. Steve Rogers still had his own issues to deal with. Secrets he held close, and it seemed that he’d take them with when he went. 

For Kendra’s sake, Bucky did his best to seem unaffected by everything, forcing his heartache and thoughts to the early morning hours when he often lay awake, thinking about Steve and yearning for something so impossible he refused to even consider it’s suggestion. He needed to stay focused on what was best for Kendra, he’d tell himself. The girl needed happiness in her life, not more sadness. 

Steve continued to do his part in helping the girl heal, as well, which only served to make Bucky’s insides twist more at the thought of Steve leaving. With, what seemed like, an infinite amount of patience he built the little girl's trust, until she became his shadow, trotting behind him, imitating everything he did, eager to get his smiling approval. Bucky’s gut clenched at that as well, Kendra, it seemed, would be devastated when Steve left. 

Perhaps that had been one of the reasons Steve had begun to withdraw, Bucky mused, as he stopped watering the plants in his garden to watch his car cross the field late one afternoon, heading for the road. Bucky nodded as he passed, and he returned the gesture with a wave of his hand. For a brief instant, the car began to stop, as though Steve had considered coming to visit him. But then he kept going. And that was a good thing, Bucky said to himself. He needed to get started on dinner soon and a little girl to think about. Turning, he moved towards the tool shed and out of sight of the road. 

Steve watched Bucky go in the rearview mirrors, he was sorely tempted to stop and follow the man. But he had things to do, calls to make, a past to reconcile. That had to take priority. Only when he’d put yesterday to rest, could he think about tomorrow. 

An hour later as he waited for the waitress at the little diner in Honey Cove to bring his order, he flexed and tensed his hands around his mug. A lot is riding on this phone call, Steve thought as he stared at the phone before him. 

“Seamus O’Connor speaking.” 

“Hey, Da.” 

“Hello, Steve. I’ve been waiting for you to call.” 

“You hear from anybody?” 

“Sure did. It’s all set up like you asked. Two weeks from Friday, 9 pm sharp. Ms. Potts was very nice. She said your work was beautiful and that she’s willing to help with anything she can to get everything in order. Did say she wanted ta talk to ya before, though.” 

The tension in Steve’s back and shoulders eased. “Thank’s for all your help, Da.” 

“Glad to do it. It’s important to you. You gonna stop in for a bit on your way through?” 

“Of course I will. I’ll let you know the final timing when I have everything all worked out. Love you.” 

“I love you too, son.” 

*** 

“Alright, James, they’ve been put off long enough. It’s time. You have to make a decision. Yea or nay on the interview?” 

Bucky turned on the speaker phone and set the phone it’s self on the counter, propped onto the wall. He knew he couldn’t delay the decision anymore. Natasha had been stalling the newspaper for nearly a week as he’d doubted himself. While the publicity the interview would bring to his newest book, the idea that strange people would be in his home and taking his photo terrified him. It was one thing to venture out for Kendra’s needs \-- Steve a constant at his side, ready to catch him when he stumbled, and ready to push him forward when he hesitated. Nat had said they wanted to do the interview in December, meaning he’d be alone. Kendra was far too young for him to lean on, and Steve would probably be long gone. He wasn’t really sure he was quite ready for that yet. 

“James, you there?” 

Natasha's voice pulled him from his musings. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks for keeping them at bay for so long, Nat.” 

“I’d hate for you to pass up this opportunity. They don’t come along every day. And you’d get to approve the questions they ask. We want to get those books flying off the shelves. It’s my job to get it done.” 

In fact, Bucky knew it was far more than that. Natasha was also his friend \-- now that he’d allowed her in. Even before, she’d been a strong advocate of his books. Natasha had taken a risk on him with that first manuscript when his writing had been rough and he’d had nothing bolstering him as any kind of writer, not even a single goddamned English class beyond high school. Maybe he owed it to her to do this interview. And to himself. You can do this, Bucky asserted to himself. 

“Okay,” he said, picking up the phone to clutch it in his hand. 

A couple beats of silence passed between them. “Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Of course! I’ll get a hold of them immediately. Then we need to go out for lunch to celebrate. Check your calendar, and when I call back we’ll talk time and place.” She hung up immediately, not giving him a chance to protest. 

Memories of that horrible dinner with his sister's family crashed over him in a wave of anxiety. The event had been so traumatic that he hadn’t stepped foot inside of a cafe or restaurant since then. But his scars had faded quite a bit, they were no longer strikingly red, and no longer held stitches. Even Jamie had noticed the difference in the span of only a year. And it’d been quite a while since the last time he’d scared a child. As for how adults reacted, well, it wasn’t his fault that some people were as inconsiderate as that mother had been. He was going to have a nice meal in a nice restaurant with his friend, and no one's inconsiderate actions were going to take that from him. 

A few minutes later his screen flashed, notifying him that Nat was calling back. “Okay,” he said instead of the usual pleasantries. He’d just spoken to her less than ten minutes before, he figured she’d be fine. 

A beat of silence followed his statement. “You know, this has all been much simpler than I would have thought. Granted I knew you’d do the interview anyway, but I anticipated for it to be a harder sell.” Natasha admitted at last. 

“Let's just say I figured it was long past time to make a few changes in my life. You may need to cheerlead me a bit now and again, though.” Bucky aimed for a teasing tone, but couldn’t quite hide how serious he actually was. 

“You haven’t anything to worry about on that score, James. You’re one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met.” Natasha said the serious tone of her voice surprised Bucky. She continued right on to scheduling a time for them to have lunch, never stopping long enough for Bucky to reflect over what she’d said. 

After he hung up the phone, he made a note in his journal to try and create a character based off of her later. With how much she’d done to help him, it was the best way he could think of how to show his gratitude. 

Despite her compliment, Bucky knew that he wasn’t courageous at all. He was constantly filled with anxiety, more scared and uncertain than he’d ever dare to let on, overwhelmed by all the changes in his life and all the responsibilities he’d taken on. 

But everything seemed to be pushing him in this direction. Urging him forward, and revise how he’d decided to live after the army. 

After all, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to know it all to keep moving forward. For himself and Kendra. 

*** 

How about a cup of coffee?” Steve looked over at Bucky as Sam ushered Kendra into his office for his bi-weekly counseling session. 

“This is getting to be a habit.” even as he spoke, he reached for his jacket. At first, Both Bucky and Steve had preferred staying close during the sessions. But as the weeks wore on, they both saw how much Kendra had taken a liking to Sam. Mid-thirtyish, with laugh lines and a lively manner that engaged everyone in a way that made people of all ages forget that they were here to see a therapist and not just an old friend. Because of this, They were more willing to leave the office while the session took place. 

“I can list some worse habits if you want….” Steve countered with a grin, trailing off as if he was about to start doing just that. 

“Don’t be a punk, Steve,” Bucky said, laughing as he stood. Steve held his jacket for him to slip his arm into. His left shoulder had been too sore from the day before for him to wear it. He then ushered Bucky to the door, his hand resting on Bucky’s lower back. The gesture was entirely platonic, Bucky knew, but even he could revel in the closeness of another person, especially if that person was Steve. 

The despite being late September, the days hadn’t yet grown cold, and they decided it was best that they walk the five blocks from the office to the cafe near the cities capitol building. As they walked down the sidewalk, Bucky’s attention was drawn away by a book about music in the window of a bookstore. Now that she was more comfortable speaking, Kendra had developed an interest in almost all music, it would be perfect gift for her. 

“I’m gonna run in and get that book for Kendra,” he told Steve. “Why don’t you go on ahead and get us a table?” 

“Alright, see you in a few minutes.” 

Ten minutes later, book tucked into the bag Steve had insisted he use this morning, Bucky strolled up to the coffee shop. There was no sign of Steve at any of the mostly vacant outdoor tables. With a quick glance through the front window told Bucky that the shop was quite busy. It seemed they had caught the shop right around their lunch rush. He walked away from the open door, intent on securing them one of the wire tables outside before everyone else made it out of the shop.” 

“Steve Rogers!” A woman’s voice called out across the shop before he’d made it more than three steps. Bucky froze and turned in the direction of Steve. 

The woman who was approaching him looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Jeans hugged her wide hips, and she wore a light blue sheer blouse over top, blonde curls shifting with every step she took, looking altogether like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. With a pang, Bucky remembered, Steve had had a wife. Bucky would never have stood a chance even if he’d had the courage to tell Steve about his feelings. 

“Steve, It’s been far too long!” Steve’s face was drained of all color as he greeted the woman. 

“Hello, Lorraine.” 

“You know, I was just asking Maria the other day if you’d made anything new. And Imagine, meeting you here, of all places.” The woman’s voice carried easily over the loud buzz of the shop’s customers. “I was so sorry to hear what had happened with Sharon, the divorce, and the baby! How horrible of her to do such a thing to you, and for you to find out how you did! And of course the injury, I can’t imagine how hard it must have all been to deal with at once. It was so sad when you’d disappeared like you did, of course, we all understood why. Anyways, if you do ever come back, give me a call. Or, you know, even if you don’t.” She laid her hand on Steve’s bicep. 

Oh god, she’s flirting with him, Bucky thought with a self-deprecating note. She was gorgeous, why would he ever want to stay with someone like me when he could have her. He scowled at the table, deep in thought. 

“Lorraine, we have to go or we’ll miss the show!” A woman yelled from near Bucky. Steve caught him staring as the pair turned to stare at the woman who’d yelled. 

“Well, I guess I’d better go. Call me if you’re ever in DC again, Steve.” With that, she swayed off. Rather than watching the mystery woman leave, Steve stared at Bucky, paler than he’d been when he’d heard his name from the woman. 

“Sir? Sir, Can I help you?” Steve forced his attention back onto the barista and placing their order. 

When Steve sat across from him a few moments later, Bucky was trying to process the information he’d just overheard. What had his wife done? What did she mean by make something? What baby? He said he didn’t have kids? His mind swirled with unasked questions, but he continued to keep them quiet. Steve had chosen to keep these things close to his chest, and he had no right in probing any further than Steve had already let him see. But he wished that Steve had felt he could confide in Bucky, that their relationship had been strong enough to handle whatever he’d needed to say. He had thought they were closer than that, now. 

As Steve sat and placed the coffee’s onto the table, he studied Bucky. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the hurt and questions over flowing in his eyes. He intended to deal with all of the questions and hurt Bucky was feeling in that moment. Lorraine appearing in such a way forced his hand a bit earlier than he’d have liked, but he was going to tell the other man soon enough anyway. It was time he told Bucky why he’d been on the trip in the first place, time he shared with the man his own pain he’d endured, the humiliation and anger that accompanied him for two very long years until he’d happened upon the haven that was Winter Court. 

Despite the fog that still obscured parts of the road ahead, he wanted to look forward, and in order to do so, he needed to lay his past to rest. 

With Seamus acting as the intermediary and the cooperations of Stark gallery that had once sold so many of his works, the arrangements were now in place that he was set for his journey to the past. He hadn’t planned to tell Bucky in such a public space, as he would have been uncomfortable enough as it was, but he’d have no choice now. 

“That was an art dealer I used to work with.” he gripped tightly to his paper cup as he looked over at the other man. 

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Bucky said swirling the coffee he no longer wanted. “But she wasn’t exactly quiet and….” Steve reached across the small table, placing his hand on Bucky’s over the cup, his words died in his throat. 

“I’d planned to tell you the story before I leave next week.” 

Bucky felt like someone had just slapped him across the face. He jerked his head up to stare at the blonde man, stomach practicing it’s knot tying skills. “You’re leaving next week?” 

At Bucky’s bereft expression, Steve gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I have some things I need to do back in DC and Brooklyn. I won’t be gone long. 

Confused, Bucky tilted his head and stared. “You…. You’re coming back?” 

“If you don’t mind? I have another job lined up in November.” 

He was staying! Maybe not forever, of course not, but at least for a while. “Sure. Y-You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” 

The warmth of Steve’s smile sent a pulse through him all the way to his toes. But as he released Bucky’s hand and took a sip of his coffee. The curve of his lips flattened into a grim line. “There are a lot of things I haven’t told ya, Buck.” 

“You worked with an art dealer?” 

“Yeah, I was an artist before I joined the army. I was supposed to go to art school after a couple years, but the army just called to me, and when I did get out, well, I wasn’t in any shape to be going to an art school.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I was doing one last tour in Afghanistan, and when I came back from an op with no memory of the previous seven months on active duty they sent me home on a medical discharge, sometimes things get a little fuzzy and I get migraines, but I healed right on up. But, I came home two months early, thought I’d surprise Sharon. Well, she was surprised gotta give her that.” He chuckled bitterly. Setting his coffee to the side, Steve looked towards the fountains in the nearby capitol park, his expression troubled. 

“We’d discussed having children before. First, we were waiting for her career in law enforcement to settle, then we were waiting for me to retire from the army. That’s why that was gonna be my last tour, I was gonna go home, settle down, and raise a family with her.” He looked pained as he explained what he’d thought was going to happen when he came home. 

He’d said she was remarried and had a child now, so she hadn’t passed away. Did she leave him because he was on tour? No, Steve had said she knew it was his last tour. And beyond morning where he’d looked extra tired, or withdrawn Bucky hadn’t seen any signs of particularly dangerous PTSD symptoms, so he didn’t know why she’d leave a man like Steve. The lady before, Lorraine, had said something about how she couldn’t believe what Sharon had done to him. 

“I’d stopped at a florist on the way home, picked her up some flowers. She was a detective by that point, so she had some pretty regular hours, barring a case was going on. I knew she’d be home. So I went right to our house, let myself in. She wasn’t around, so I figured she had a case or something, so maybe I’d shower then go check the precinct. When I’d gone into the bedroom for clothes after, I found out why she hadn’t been anywhere else in the house. Walked into my own damned bedroom to see her and another man sleepin’ soundly. I’m sure I don’t gotta say how.” His eyes went dark at that. “What’s worse is we’d been together near eleven years, and she hadn’t even really wanted a baby when we were talkin’ about after I got out. I wasn’t pressing her, I figured I woulda been fine if she was never ready, I loved her. And we weren’t even really divorced when her eldest was born.” Steve looked dejected as he swirled the dark brown liquid in his cup. 

Bucky felt angry at this Sharon woman, why would she break such a kind man’s heart like that. He figured it probably would have been less painful for Steve if she’d just said she wanted a divorce. This time it was him who reached out to squeeze Steve’s hand. Hate for a woman he’d never met, whose carelessness had turned his good man’s world upside down, with no regard for everything that comes with coming home from a war zone, nor the feelings of betrayal he must have felt in the time after. And though he searched desperately, he could find nothing to say that might help combat against the overload of things Steve must be feeling. All he could do was hold his hand, and hope that he could somehow feel the sympathy and care that Bucky was attempting to express. 

“The day I signed the papers, I left. I signed the paper, and then just walked out, got into my car, and left.” Steve finally looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears. I’d bought the house before we got married, so I had My Da sell it off, gave him half of it and used the rest to travel. I was so angry, and I thought, perhaps by the time I’d made it here, well, it’d be over it right? “ 

Bucky looked at how distraught Steve was, feeling his pain as though it were his own, and it occurred to him that sometimes, damage isn’t so visible. Some, like him, bore their scars for everyone to see; others carried them in such a way that they were only seen in their heart. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered. 

“I was too, for myself.” He looked back steadily, cutting himself no slack. “I didn’t think I deserved what had happened to me. That somehow, as someone who’d fought to protect this country, I was somehow above everyone else. It’s taken me two very long years, and a nine-month long road trip to realize that wasn’t true. I’d spent the entire separation and divorce working with my Da, hoping that time would help. It didn’t, and so I wandered.” He put his head down like he was contemplating something. “That night, when I came to your doorstep, I was low, lower than I’d ever been before. With the divorce and the nightmares and everything else, well, I’d already decided Oregon was the end of the line.” 

He leaned forward into Bucky’s space. “But I’ve learned a lot since then. About letting go, and moving on. That’s why I need to go back to DC. To set the record straight with Sharon, and to close that chapter of my life, once and for all. So I can move ahead.” 

But move where? Bucky wanted to ask, aware that he had no place in doing so. “That makes sense.” 

For several moments, they were quiet. Steve’s gaze holding him captive, as if he wanted to say more. But in the end, he glanced at his phone, and stood, coffee in hand. “Kendra will be waiting for us.” He reached for Bucky’s hand and drew him to his feet, his face only inches from Bucky’s, blue eyes warm. “Thanks for listening, Buck.” 

His voice still thick from emotion and tender expression wreaked havoc on Bucky’s stomach and he had to clear his throat twice before he could say anything. “Thank you for sharing.” 

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand, then grabbed Bucky’s bag and empty coffee cup to throw away. He then led the way down the steps from the terrace, guiding Bucky down the steps with sure movements. After they were once again on flat ground, he repositioned his hand to rest on Bucky’s waist once more. 

Never once spending more than a few seconds without some form of physical contact, even later as they drove home. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	14. Chapter 14

It was a day of mixed emotions, starting off in celebration of the “official” opening of Bucky’s office. A homemade cheesecake sat cooling on the kitchen counter, and BUcky had strung a red ribbon in the office doorway. When the time came, they strolled through the garden towards the newly finished structure and he handed the scissors to Kendra, who stood between him and Steve. 

“Will you do the honors, Kendra?” 

Wide eyes stared up at him in surprise. “Me?” 

“Yes. you helped Steve s much, I think you should be the one to cut the ribbon. Don’t you, Steve?” 

“There’s no one else better qualified.” 

The girl flushed in happiness as she took the set of blue shears. “O-Okay.” 

Using both hands to steady the scissors, the girl lifted them to the ribbon and snipped it in half cleanly. Steve stood by recording the moment with his camera, recording the pair’s wide smiles and applause as the two pieces of ribbon fluttered to the ground. When the applause settled, Bucky finally took his first step across the threshold and surveyed his dream of an office, brought into being by Steve. He’d been inside the little structure during the building process, of course, but the finished structure, now cleared of any construction debris and exposed drywall, was breathtaking. Though he’s seen the drawings Steve had done, he’d enhanced them beyond what he’d originally seen, creating a space that was as beautiful as it was practical. The side facing the field was made almost entirely of a bank of windows, allowing Bucky an unobstructed view of his property, he had no doubt that when the spring filled the field with wildflowers he’d once again be breathless. 

“It’s too pretty to get any work done.” Bucky’s tone was filled with awe as he moved around the room, his face alight with joy. “I’m sorely tempted to move in here, Stevie.” he traced his hands along the wall, staring at some of the art that had been hung up. He noted there were some family photos hanging on the wall above his desk, he could see framed drawings done by both Jamie and Kendra hanging by the door to the small bathroom. What was most surprising was a long painting the took the space above the bank of windows, depicting a day similar to their picnic when he’d finally gotten Kendra to stay. The difference being that what had been a girl covered in dirt with an oversized dress and tangled hair, sat a happy and rosy cheeked girl, standing and staring up at two men. His breath hitched and he could feel hot tears welling up in his eyes, they looked like a family. 

Steve smiled, his expression soft and filled with emotion.“I’m glad you like it, Buck.” 

“Like it? Hell, Steve, I love it!” he spun quickly, and on impulse reached out to hug the man who’d made his idea into a reality much better than he’d ever imagined. Steve’s arms wound around him, and he briefly pressed his nose into Bucky’s hair, pleasing and fresh scent, before they pulled away from one another and smiled. 

Steve studied Bucky, his sweetness and kindness had helped Steve find a way from the darkness, and he marveled at the changes that had been wrought in Bucky, as well. Where once he’d hidden his face and arm under his hair, a hat, and a thick jacket and stayed in the shadows or far from where people congregated, he now embraced the sunshine. Despite the bright light that highlighted his scars and shone off the shiny metal casing for his arm, he was unselfconscious about them. At least with Steve. These days, Steve often found Bucky wandering around in a loose t-shirt and soft, faded blue jeans, his hair tied back in a long messy plait where Kendra had taken to brushing and fixing Bucky’s hair each morning before Bucky did the same for her. His throat tightened with tenderness, and he was tempted to express the depth of his feelings in a way that left no doubt in Bucky’s mind that he was a handsome and more than appealing man in every way. 

Before Steve could hide it, Bucky saw the spark that ignited in Steve’s eyes, and for an instant, he stopped breathing. Almost like that night on the porch, when Steve had interrupted the tense encounter with Kendra’s grandpa, he had the distinct impression that Steve wanted to kiss him. Then, he’d thought the urge was one driven by pity or consolation, by a need to reassure him that the danger had passed. But, in this moment, he wasn’t sure about the motivation. Bucky knew that Steve liked him, of course. But liking someone, and feeling attraction to someone were two completely different things. He was probably just caught up in the excitement of the moment, reading too much into Steve’s expression, like he always did. Nothing more. 

“This is… really pretty, Steve. It is bright...and sunny… and h-happy. I like… i-it a… a whole lot.” 

Lost in evaluating Steve’s expression, it took a few seconds for Kendra’s words to reach his brain. As soon as they did he had to blink back tears of joy. She’d said a full sentence. Not even just one, but three! 

Forcing himself completely free from Steve’s arms, lowering himself into a squat at Kendra’s level. “So do I. You both did a wonderful job.” 

Steve dropped down to crouch beside him, and from the look on his face, he hadn’t missed Kendra’s milestone. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Sweetheart.” He laid his hand on the girl's shoulder. 

A flush of pleasure warmed her face. “What…. What are you going to write first?” she asked Bucky. 

“I have a very special book in mind. But since it’s a surprise, you’ll have to wait and when it’s done we can read it together. In the meantime, how ‘bout we go and eat some of that cake we made?” 

The festive mood carried with them as they trooped into the kitchen, with its sugar scented air. As they took their places at the table, Bucky cut them each a generous slice of the cake and passed out plates and forks. Though they were celebrating the completion of the studio, the easy laughter that filled the room was yet another blessing that filled him with gratitude that this was his life now. 

Kendra was just finishing her own slice when Steve shot him a look, and he nodded. He hadn’t been looking forward to this part of the day. Given Kendra’s growing attachment to the man she’d once taken such pains to avoid, he and Steve had talked to Sam at length about Steve’s upcoming trip, seeking his advice on how to best position it as to not cause any setbacks in Kendra’s healing. His advice was sound, and the pair decided to follow it to the letter. Hoping that everything would come together as they hoped and give Kendra the confidence to understand that the other man was, indeed, coming back to them. 

“Kendra, I have a job for you to do,” Steve began, keeping everything conversational. 

“Okay.” The young girl stared at him expectantly as she stuck another bite into her mouth. 

“I have to go on a little trip. I’ll be gone for a couple of days, and I’d like you to take care of my tools and painting things while I’m away. They’re very important to me because I can’t do my work with them. If I were to leave them in your room, can you keep them safe until I come back?” 

The girl stopped chewing, her lip trembling a bit. “You’re going a-away?” 

“Not for long. Just a few days. I’ll be back real soon.” Steve folded the girl's small hand in the both of his, never once breaking eye contact with her. 

“Wh-why do y-you….” Kendra stopped, he lip was trembling more this time, leaving her question unasked. 

“I have to go talk to some people where I used to live. And I want to visit my step-dad, too,” Steve responded in a soft voice. 

At that, her eyes widened and flashed to look up at Steve in fear, dropping her fork onto the plate. “H-he won't h-hurt y-you, w-will he?” 

A muscle clenched in Steve’s jaw at the reminder of the little girl's past, and he glanced at Bucky. He could see the restrained anger in Steve’s eyes, prompted by the thought that anyone -- let alone a child’s family -- could treat a child as Kendra had been treated. But Steve locked his anger back before he looked back to Kendra. “No, Sweetheart. He won’t. Seamus is a very nice man. I love him very much. I miss him, and he misses me. That's why I want to go see him.” 

For several long moments, Kendra digested that. “I-I don’t m-miss my f-family.” her already light voice was even smaller as she looked down at the table. 

“And that’s okay. They weren’t very nice to you. Most of the time, we only miss people who were nice to us.” 

“I-I’ll miss you! And Bucky, if he w-went away!” 

His throat tight, Bucky laid a hand on Kendra’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna go anywhere, Kendra,” he promised in a choked voice. He knew, in that moment, that he could never just give her up, for her to go somewhere else. He wanted to adopt her, even if he had to be a single father, this girl was worth it, and he wanted to be there to help heal her wounds, and give her a better family than she’d ever known. “I love you very much, Kendra,” he whispered, pulling her into a hug. The girls head jerked up, as though she’d never heard those words before. “And I want us to be together, for always,” he blinked back tears, pulling her closer. 

He felt Steve’s gaze, but he pulled back to look only at Kendra, it was important that she see his sincerity on his face and in his eyes, to know without a doubt that she was loved and valued, and more importantly, wanted. 

“Y-you mean I… I can s-stay with y-you…? F-for always?” 

“I’m going to call Clint, you know that nice social worker with the dog and talk to him about it Monday. Would you like that, Kendra?” 

“Yes.” The tenseness in her shoulders relaxed, and she shot Bucky one of her rare smiles. It was only after she’d resumed eating her cake, did Bucky look at Steve again. 

“I didn’t know about that,” Steve said quietly. 

“I wasn’t sure myself. Until Just now. But I want to do this, Steve.” His gaze was steady and firm, certain in his choice. 

“Do what?” Kendra inquired. 

For a split second, Steve’s hard-to-read expression had made him forget that Kendra was still sitting between them. And very much aware of the conversation that had taken place above her. “Just something I need to do next week, that’s all,” he responded, smoothing a wrinkle in the sleeve of the girl's sundress. “I guess you like that cake, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Here, let's get you another slice, I think I’ll have another, too. Steve?” 

“No, thanks.” 

As he cut two more slices and returned to the table, Bucky had the nagging feeling that he’d somehow disappointed Steve. But he had no idea why. If he wanted to take on the job of raising Kendra, Why should it matter to him? It wasn’t like it was Steve’s responsibility. Bucky had spent years relying on his own judgment, making his own decisions. This was a good decision, he could feel it, even if Steve wasn’t enthusiastic about it. 

But his certainty couldn’t wash away the sick feeling in his stomach that for whatever reason, Steve disapproved. And when he lifted his fork again, he found that his appetite had vanished with the happiness that had followed the ribbon-cutting ceremony. 

+++ 

They were gonna miss the bus. 

With a worried glance at his watch, Bucky pressed a little harder on the accelerator. The bus here was always on schedule, as it was the only one that came to Honey Cove, and it only came once a day. Meaning if Steve didn’t catch this one, they’d have to make the three-hour long drive to Portland. There was very little margin for error. And while he’d thought they’d left with enough time, he hadn’t accounted for the road work happening on the Siletz highway to repair the part of it that had recently fallen in during a mudslide. 

“We’ll make it there in time, Bucky.” 

He took his attention off the road long enough to shoot Steve a quick, anxious look. “I’m not so sure. We shoulda had lunch earlier. But none of us were really hungry after cheesecake this morning. If you miss the bus, we’ll have to try and make the drive to Portland, and risk getting lost, meaning you might not make it there in time for your plane.” Why had his car picked yesterday to die completely? 

Reaching over, he placed a reassuring hand on Bucky’s arm. “It will be okay, Buck.” 

As it turned out, they did make it… with only ten minutes to spare. There was still a line of people holding their passes as they waited to board the Greyhound. 

“See? Told ya we’d make it,” Steve noted with a smile. 

“Whatever you say punk. I won’t be sure of that until you’re on board.” He set the car into first gear, pressing the emergency break down as he shut the truck off. “Why don’t you grab your bag and I’ll let the driver know there’s another passenger coming. Kendra, please stay with Steve, okay?” 

Not bothering to wait for a response, Bucky dashed towards the bus. 

Only when Steve and Kendra joined him a few moments later did he feel the tension in his shoulders release. “You should board,” he told Steve, taking Kendra’s hand in his right, jamming the other into his pocket. 

Ever since Bucky had revealed his plans to adopt Kendra that morning, Steve had sensed an awkwardness between them. Due, he supposed, to his reaction to the announcement. Looking back, he realized that Bucky might have interpreted the surprise as disapproval. In fact, nothing was further than the truth. He was all for it. He’d just expected that they’d discuss it beforehand like they had everything else that had had to do with Kendra. Then again, why should they? Steve had never given the other man any indication of his growing feelings. Or his hopes of being a part of Bucky’s future. It didn’t seem appropriate to do so before he settled his past; until he was free to make promises about tomorrow. 

But he couldn’t leave on such an uncomfortable note. And though his preparations for the trip had lasted most of the morning, he’d hoped that there would be enough time for them to discuss the situation. For one thing, they only had five more minutes. And for another, he didn’t think it was a conversation they should have in front of Kendra. 

Suddenly, he had an idea. He dug into his pocket for his wallet, withdrawing a few dollar bills and passing them over to Kendra. “Why don't you run to that store over there and get some of that taffy you like?” he suggested. In the past, whenever they’d come into town for groceries or building materials, they’d stopped for a treat at the small sweets shop. Kendra’s face lit up as her small fist closed around the coins. 

“Y-you won’t leave till I g-get b-back, will you?” 

“No, sweetheart. I still have a few minutes,” Steve promised. 

As Kendra took off at a run, Steve turned to Bucky. He had his hat on today, but his hair was still braided back, so only half of his face was hidden in shadow as he stared out over the icy gray water. 

“Bucky,” the sound of his voice caused the brunette man to turn towards him. “I’m sorry if my reaction this morning upset you.” 

“It’s fine.” but the stiff shrug he gave as he turned away, told Steve that it wasn’t. “I know I can’t give her the ideal home. Can’t give her the family I had. But it’ll be better than being passed around in foster care her whole life. And I do love her, Steve. Just as much as I’d love a child of my genes. And I hope that helps to compensate for the things that I lack the ability to give her.” 

Setting his duffel on the ground next to himself, Steve reached for Bucky, urging him with gentle pressure to face him. “Bucky, I don’t disapprove. I couldn’t think of anyone better to care for Kendra. Or to give her a more loving home. She belongs with you. I was only surprised that you’d never mentioned it. But then, I guess I’ve never given you any reason to think about discussing those things with me.” He paused, trying to find the words to express all that he felt for the man. “Thing is, I…” 

The bus honked, cutting him off, and the driver stood outside the door, tapping her watch. 

“You have to go, they aren’t gonna wait,” Bucky told him. 

Steve didn’t loosen his grip any. He couldn’t leave like this, couldn’t walk away from Bucky without giving him some indication of his feelings. It wasn’t the time or place for such emotional declarations, but he had to at least offer a glimpse of what was in his heart. 

“You have to leave, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was urgent and nearly drowned out by the bus stations announcement. He tried to draw away, but Steve held fast. Prepared to object, Bucky looked up at him. But the words died in his throat as Steve ducked a bit to claim Bucky’s lips in a soft kiss. 

For several seconds, time seemed to stop. Bucky was too surprised to respond, to object… to do anything but cling to Steve’s arms for support. When at last they pulled far enough apart to see each other's eyes, he stared at the blond in confusion. “But why? W-why’d you? Why’d you do that?” 

Reaching up, Steve brushed back a lock of loosened hair from Bucky’s face and responded in an unsteady voice. “Why do you think?” 

At Bucky’s stunned and perplexed expression, Steve realized that he really hadn’t understood the message Steve was trying to communicate. “Why does someone usually kiss someone else, Buck?” Steve prompted, voice as soft, as tender, as a lovers embrace. 

Bucky knew the answer to that, of course. But it didn’t fit. No one could ever be attracted to a man as disfigured as he was. Putting a hand to his scarred cheek to hide it, he turned away in silence, blinking to clear the tears that had sprung to his eyes. 

Expression troubled, Steve studied the man beside him. He’d made such strides in his reentry into society, that it simply hadn’t occurred to Steve that in their relationship Bucky would still have such insecurities. To be so conscious of his scars. Yet his reaction affirmed the depth of the scars he bore. Not only the visible ones but the scars burned into his heart and mind as well. 

Truth was, Bucky was far more conscious of the scars than Steve was. At some point during the past few months, as he and Bucky shared meals and conversation and trips with Kendra, the scars had faded into insignificance for him. Just another piece of Bucky. It was Bucky’s kindness that had first drawn Steve in. His warmth, his loving ways, his generosity, and his caring spirit. That was what made Bucky special. And long after age would steal away their physical appeal, those qualities would remain and continue to shine through, still able to tighten Steve’s throat with emotion and fill his heart with love. 

But there was no time to say this all now. It would have to wait until… 

“Steve! Steve!” 

Kendra was running towards them as fast as her little legs could carry her. “I...I heard the horn.” she stopped directly in front of Steve, thrusting a clear bag filled with green and brown taffy into his hands. 

Confused, Steve stared at the bag. Rather than getting her favorite blue raspberry taffy, Kendra had chosen the candy that Steve always bought for himself. Steve was overwhelmed by the unselfish going-away present from a little girl who’d known little or no generosity or kindness before meeting Bucky. Blinking away the tears that suddenly clouded his vision, he dropped down and pulled the girl close, burying his face in her slight shoulder. “Thank you, Kendra. 

He held her as long as he dared, and when he rose, his gaze sought Buckys. “We’ll talk more when I come back.” 

And then he was gone, sprinting for the bus, boarding just as the driver was getting ready to shut the doors. He waved from the window at the pair still standing on the sidewalk. Only when it disappeared from sight did Bucky and Kendra turn towards the car. 

As he took the little girl's hand, she looked up at him. “H-he’s really c-coming back, isn’t he, Bucky?” 

“Yes, Kendra, he is.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise, Sweetheart.” 

It wasn’t a promise Bucky made lightly. Nor was it one he had any qualms about making, he realized as his heart soared with a fragile hope. Because the look in Steve's eyes just now, before he’d raced off, had been filled with just that. 

Promise. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter 15

The day was blustery and cold, but Bucky welcomed the feel of the brisk air on his face, inhaling deeply. Ever since they’d seen Steve off the day before, he’d been restless. The tremulous hope that’d followed his kiss had evaporated shortly after, leaving uncertainty, and questions in its place. Sleep had been elusive the night before, and the long dark hours of pondering hadn’t brought about any resolution. What he needed was a long, secluded walk to sort everything out. When he’d dropped Kendra off at her therapy session fifteen minutes before, he’d asked Sam if he knew of any such spot. Which is how he found himself strolling through the rose garden in the cities Bush Pasture Park. It was deserted, as it was the middle of the day, and children had started school only a month before. He could see the remnants of the large colorful blooms, the greenhouse in the distance. 

A sudden gust of wind whipped by and Bucky pulled his collar closer around his throat, hunching as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he set off along the path, determined to straighten out what he was feeling for Steve. Except, he didn’t really know where to begin. Before yesterday, he’d convinced himself that the look he’d seen on Steve’s face on several occasions hadn’t been attraction, but rather, simple kindness. He’d convinced himself that his feelings were entirely one-sided, but he could no longer delude himself with that notion. Though their conversation had been cut short by the bus’s departure, and Steve hadn’t had the time to verbalize what was in his heart, Bucky had seen it in the other man's eyes. And felt it in his kiss. 

Steve was in love with him. 

That insight had been astonishing and exhilarating and exciting. And terrifying. 

But even more terrifying was, that he was in love with Steve. 

Attempting to pinpoint the exact instant when their relationship had shifted from friendship to love was impossible. It had been a gradual progression, happening in nearly imperceptible increments, until one day he realized that Steve had stolen away his heart. And until that kiss yesterday, he hadn’t even been sure of Steve's feelings. 

Now that he was aware, however, he knew that the solitary life he’d carefully built for himself after the military was about to be reshaped. Assuming, that is, that Steve wanted to explore those feelings and follow the path that could, and would deepen their relationship. But if he did, would Bucky have the courage to upgrade his life just as he had done with his office by adding a brand new building that would no doubt change how he worked, yet in the process made it bigger and brighter, and all around, better? Did he have the courage to trust this man with his heart, to believe that Steve would never hurt him? That he’d always be able to look past Bucky’s scars and his past? 

+++ 

“It’s good to see you, son.” 

Wrapped in a bear hug, steve was too choked up to respond at once to his Step-father's greeting. It’d been almost a year since they’d been together. But they were as close as they’d been, ever since Sarah brought him home for the first time; a nervous smile on her face, hoping her son would like this man. And after seeing firsthand in Kendra what could happen to a child who didn't have the benefit of loving, supportive parents, he thanked his mother in heaven for bringing him into his life before she passed. He imagined he’d have been much worse off had his mother left him alone when she’d passed away. 

“I’m glad to be back, Seamus.” 

His father released him at last, surveying him with critical eyes. “Come in, come in You’re looking well. Happy.” 

“I feel good.” Steve stared down as he wiped his shoes, looking up as he shrugged off his warm jacket. “Better than I have in a long time, since before ma. I think.” 

Seamus gave him a sad smile but continued speaking with love and joy at seeing his son again after so long. “I have some homemade stew, but it doesn’t look like you’ve been missing many meals here lately,” his thick Irish accent dripped with amusement. 

“Are you calling me fat?” Steve gasped in faux shock, clutching his chest with one hand. 

The older man’s blue eyes twinkled as he took Steve’s coat to hang on the hook near the door. “Yep. Another coupla pounds, you might be back to where you were when you came back. That landlord of yours must be a good cook.” 

Steve put his hands in his jeans pockets. He hadn’t planned to discuss the subject with the other man so soon, but the older man had given him the perfect opening to discuss it. And it wasn’t as though Seamus didn’t know he was bisexual, he’d been there to get him when Steve's first boyfriend dumped him for goodness sakes! But this was different, Seamus had loved Sharon, and Steve hadn’t even told him the reason for the divorce, much less about Bucky. 

“To be honest, he’s more than just my landlord.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked down again. 

Attempting to stifle a laugh, his step father turned back to face him. “Can’t say I'm all that surprised really.” 

Shocked, steve's head snapped up. “Why not?” 

“There was something in your voice when you talked about him on the telephone. It reminded me of whenever I'd talk about Sarah to someone.” Seamus shrugged. “I’m happy for you, Steve. I know that you didn’t tell me everything about the divorce, but you were so angry when you left. I’m so glad you’ve found this man.” his face turned serious. “I hope you won’t let your hurt over Sharon hurt him.” 

Warmth flooded steve's chest. “Yeah. but I’m gonna do my best to never hurt him. There’s so much I want to talk to you about.” 

“And I want to hear it all. We can talk about it over a nice bowl of stew. But first, I got another call from maria about your visit to the gallery. She wanted me to remind you that she’d like to talk to you before the show.” 

“Yeah, I figured I’d call her from here if that's fine. I didn’t want to have that conversation in public. Or at Bucky’s.” 

“Sure. d’ya wanna do that first? Or dinner?” 

“Should probably do it now, before it gets too late. And so we can focus on other things.” 

“Like that nice landlord o’ yours?” 

“Yeah.” Steve’s lips quirked up. 

With a wave, the older man pushed him towards the family room. “Go on now. The stew’ll keep.” 

As steve settled into one of the worn armchairs and tapped the curator's number into his cell phone, he drew a long, steadying breath. Things were finally falling into place. Just one more piece of business to take care of, and then he could move on with his life, make a new start. Everything after this depended on Bucky, of course. But he was confidant that the other man returned his feelings, though they’d never been given words or expressed before their good-bye at the bus station. Bucky’s eyes didn’t lie, though. Bucky was obviously scared. And uncertain. And disbelieving that anyone would find him attractive. But Steve was sure that he could help Bucky put all of those fears to rest when he got home. And it seemed that that time couldn’t come soon enough. 

A woman’s greeting on the other end of the line brought him back to the present and he focused his attention on the task at hand. “Ms. Hill? Steve Rogers here.” 

“Ah Captain Rogers, I’m glad you called.” 

The long unused rank startled him. No one had called him that since his failed attempts at therapy it the VA office. “My father said you wanted to speak to me before the show? Is something the matter?” 

“Not at all Captain, I just wanted to pass along that Ms. Potts will be attending the gallery show. She’s quite fond of your work, especially the newer scene’s you’d painted. We all love the addition of people in your work.” They talked the semantics of his return to the art world for a few minutes more before hanging up. 

After ringing off he moved to join his father in the kitchen, the older man was setting the stew on a potholder in the center of the table. 

“Just in time. Hope you’re hungry.” 

“Yeah.” 

Seamus stuck the ladle into the pot and cast a glance at his son. “Bad news?” 

“No, not at all, just some things got me thinkin’.” They discussed the phone call and the up coming gallery show for a bit, eating their stew slowly. 

“Now, tell me about this Landlord o’ yours.” 

The abrupt change in subject disconnected him for a moment. Then again, anything about Bucky always distracted him, and it didn’t take long for him to switch gears. He smiled and rested his elbows on the small wooden table, meal forgotten. 

“He’s….. Special.” 

“I figured that out for myself, son. Tell me ‘bout him.” 

Steve was more than happy to comply. As he finished, his father's face was nearly split in to by wide smile. 

“Sounds serious.” 

“It is.” 

+++ 

“Pretty remarkable, isn’t it, when you lay them all out like this?” 

Bucky stared dumbfounded at Kendra’s drawings. She’d done them all during therapy sessions since Bucky’d first brought her in, and Sam had lined them up in sequential order on a long cork board that spanned one of the walls in his office. The dark colors of the early pieces had faded over time, colors becoming lighter and lines less heavy with each subsequent drawing. 

“It’s amazing.” he replied, awestruck. 

“She’s making good progress, and I credit the majority of it to you. Sam began to gather up the drawings as ha spoke. “Isn’t it crazy what just a little love can do for a person?” 

“I got chocolate!” Kendra burst back into the room, eyes glowing with excitement behind her small oval glasses. She held up a tiny fist full of Hershey's Kisses from the receptionist's treats drawer. 

“That is something special!” bucky exclaimed, dropping to one knee beside her, and smiled. “You can eat those on the way home. But first, we gotta stop and pick some pictures up for Steve.” 

Standing, Bucky turned back to Sam. Thank you for sharing those.” He nodded his head towards the stack of artwork now sitting on the office’s coffee table. “Is there anything more I can do to help the process along?” 

The man smiled. “As the saying goes; if it ain’t broke, don’t go fixin’ it. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.” 

With an answering smile and a nod, Bucky reached for Kendra’s hand. “Okay, Sweetheart, let's head out.” 

The arm was glitching, and in Bucky’s struggle to unlock the car door the photo’s he’d picked up fell, coming loose from their neat envelopes. Muttering under his breath, he bent to scoop them up from where they’d splayed out over his seat. He froze mesmerized by the pattern they depicted. It was nearly a replay of what he’d seen only half an hour before in Sam’s office. Like Kendra’s drawings, Steve’s photos had evolved. Many of the prints were made to look brooding and dark, heavily shadowed. The images, though of cityscapes or landscapes, seemed sinister almost, threatening. The images drove home how bleak Steve’s world had been that night he arrived on Bucky’s porch. 

But later photos showed a distinct change. As summer passed, the images changed. Dark made way for light, dull was now bright, and despair moved to allow hope through. The most recent prints, including one of Kendra cutting the ribbon on the studio, were filled with a warmth absent from the others. 

Though Bucky had seen Steve taking photo’s often, he’d never actually seen any of them. And before last week, he hadn’t seen Steve’s painting’s either. He was an impressive artist. Where Bucky could describe a scene that would resonate with deep meaning, it seemed as though Steve could capture such scenes and the emotions contained within them. 

Most of all, however, he was awed by what they revealed about the man. Something wonderful had happened to Steve during his stay at Winter Court. The proof of that was spread out before him.Bucky wasn’t a psychologist, but Sam was, and his words from their meeting echoed in his mind. 

Deep inside, Bucky believed Sam. He’d seen the things that had changed in his own life these past couple of months. And it seemed that they had happened for Steve too. 

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Bucky gathered the photos, tucking them neatly back into their envelopes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this is only the end of this fic. I'm not done with these boys, so please check back in!

Steve sat still as he watched the other passengers walk down the bus’s aisle, the steady rain and gray, low-hanging clouds outside reminded him of the day in July that he’d first set foot on this fir covered piece of the world. Then, like now, the beauty of it had been hidden under a heavy fog — just as his heart had been. The dismal Oregon weather had matched his spirits at the time. 

Not anymore. Despite the dismal weather and the sharp bite and chill of the mid-November air, his heart was filled with warmth. 

At last, it was his turn to off load from the Greyhound, and Steve hoisted his duffel bag to his shoulder. As he made his way down the aisle to disembark, adrenaline shot through him, dissipating the weariness from a long day of travel by car, plane, and bus. In just a short few minutes he’d be back with Bucky and Kendra. 

He’d be home, with his family. 

As he stepped onto the first stair, he saw two figures waiting on the opposite street corner from the bus depot, both wrapped in warm fluffy coats and huddled together under a large red umbrella. Even through the drab weather, Steve could see Bucky’s warm and welcoming smile, could see the way Kendra all but shook rattled with excitement. Ignoring the way the cold scraped at his face, he hopped down the few remaining steps, breaking into a jog as soon as his feet touched pavement. Each step bringing him closer to the family he’d built, the family that was his own little piece of paradise 

“Here he comes!” Kendra’s eager voice breaking through the murmur of the other passenger's conversations, and before Bucky could stop her, she dashed from under the umbrella, pausing briefly to check for cars before she made a beeline straight for him. 

Quickly he dropped his bag, Steve braced himself as Kendra launched herself directly into his arms. Still, the force of the little girl’s welcome, and the fierce grip she held around his neck, was nearly enough to topple him— both physically and emotionally. He used the momentum to spin her once, before dropping to a knee so she could remain hugging him. “Hey, baby girl. I missed you so much.” It was difficult to get the words past the lump that sat at the base of his throat. 

“We too missed you! It was…. Lonely while you…. were gone.” 

“Well Sweetie, I’m back now. And I plan on bein’ here a long, long, long, long time.” even as he stretched to words out comically for Kendra, he directed his last statement at Bucky, who stood waiting patiently in the background, his expression soft and loving at such a tender scene. Crimson sat high on his cheekbones when he realized that Steve was talking to him, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips. 

Grabbing his bag, he hefted Kendra back up into his arms, and bridged the distance between them, his eyes never leaving Bucky. 

“You’ll both be soaking,” a bit flustered at the determined look on Steve’s face, he lifted the umbrella a bit higher to accommodate the two. “C’mon, I’m sure we’ll all fit.” 

Not needing any more encouragement to get closer to the man who’d stolen and mended his heart. He ducked under, and as the rain continued to fall around them, he could pretend that they were the only three people left in the world. 

“Hi.” Steve said softly with a small smile, their faces only inches apart, sharing the crisp air in the small space between them. 

“Welcome back.” Bucky’s gaze held his, filled with welcome, with joy —and with a sort of longing that wreaked havoc on his mind, making him yearn to greet the other man in such a way that left no doubt that he felt the same. 

However, with Kendra on one arm and his bag on the other — not even to mention everyone else gathered at the bus depot — that greeting would have to wait for a bit longer. Placing his hand on Bucky’s waist, he pulled him closer still. “It’s good to be home,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. 

Of all the things he could have said, none of them could have given Bucky more pleasure to hear — nor given him more reassurance. During his time away, doubts had plagued Bucky, mostly during late nights and the early morning hours when nightmares kept him from sleeping. Could he have misunderstood? His heart misinterpreting the signals, reading more into his eyes and actions than was warranted? He’d wondered. Just because he’d fallen in love with Steve, didn’t mean that his feelings would be reciprocated at the same intensity. Nor, did it mean that he wanted to advance their relationship. Yes, when he’d boarded the bus a few days ago he’d said that they would discuss things when he returned. And they’d kissed goodbye. But each passing day, he’d grown more and more uncertain about the significance of the kiss and comment. Maybe he’d only wanted to talk about his plans for the future, and the illustrating job he had waiting. Perhaps the kiss had been a simple, perfunctory goodbye, much like a kiss given to a family member. 

But the way Steve looked at him now, it went far beyond something friendly, or familial. His words resonating with meaning. 

The relief that eased Bucky’s face, the slight relaxing of tension in his body, didn’t escape Steve’s notice. He’d been doubting Steve’s intentions, he realized. He’d hoped his parting kiss would act as reassurance; now he realized that it hadn’t been enough. Well before this day ended, he planned to make his intentions clear. He hoped that it would be enough to give this man the courage to place his trust in him and believe in his love. Always. 

“Are we going home now?” Kendra asked. “We’re having turkey….for dinner. And dressing. And mashed…. ‘tatoes. And Bucky baked a ….pie.” 

“Sounds like Thanksgiving.” Steve shot Bucky a questioning look. 

“Thought it’d be a nice welcome home dinner. And I thought it’d be nice to anticipate the holiday a bit.” 

“Agreed.” Steve’s gaze softened as he looked at him. Once again, he was tempted to kiss the other man. Once more, he held himself back, waiting for a more appropriate time, when he could actually do the kiss justice. “Want me to drive?” he offered. 

“No.” Bucky led the way back to the car as they all huddled beneath the umbrella. “It was a long trip. Just sit back and relax.” 

“We have a…. surprise for you,” Kendra told him as they reached the vehicle. 

“Oh really? You gonna tell me ‘bout it?” Steve asked as he lowered her into the car, leaning further to help her buckle her seat belt. 

“No. then it wouldn’t be a…. Surprise.” her little voice was filled with conviction, her mouth spread into a wide, gap-toothed grin. 

“Hey…. what happened to the tooth?” for the first time, Steve noticed that the girl was missing one of her front teeth. 

“It fell out. It was only a baby tooth.” She stuck her tongue through the gap before continuing. “Bucky says a …. new tooth will grow there. It means…. I’m growing up.” 

“Well, not too soon, I hope. There are lots of things I want to do with you before you go and do that.” 

Once on the main road, headed out of town, Bucky covered the distance to his home in what seemed like record time. Kendra kept up a steady stream of banter, her excitement causing her to stumble more than usual over her words as she described everything that had happened while he’d been away. Still, the sound of her voice was like music to their ears. When they reached the little turn off to Bucky’s place, she leaned forward in her seat, almost bursting with anticipation. 

“D’ya…. see it, Steve?” she asked. 

“See what, hon?” 

“The surprise!” 

Confused, Steve scanned the trees in the deepening dusk. Nothing looked different. 

“Up ahead,” Bucky said in a muted voice, angling the car to let his headlights shine directly on the surprise. 

Once more Steve was transported back to that stormy July night when he’d arrived on his doorstep, lost and despondent. He’d nearly missed the turnoff, he recalled, until the sudden appearance of a black-tailed deer sent his car skidding — and pointed his headlights directly at the weathered, peeling sign for Winter Court. 

Now, as then, the sign was illuminated. But like his life, it had been transformed. The words were bold against a deep blue background, written in a flowing, graceful script, flowing over the crests of painted waves. 

“I helped with…. with making it pretty,” Kendra announced loudly from the backseat. 

“And you did an amazing job,” Steve praised her. “It’s beautiful.” he glanced curiously at Bucky. “What prompted this?” 

“When I first came here, I thought the name was…. ironic,” he said softly, turning towards him. In the dim light, Steve couldn’t read his expression, but the joy filling his voice was unmistakable. “Now, it’s just a name.” 

“Can we eat now?” 

There was nothing like a child to dispel a sentimental moment, Steve reflected with a wry grin. He reached over and placed his hand briefly on Bucky’s, squeezing it gently before letting go and turning to the backseat. “I’m with you there, sweetie. They don’t give ya much to eat on airplanes anymore. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” The little girl giggled at his joke. 

As Steve expected, the meal was wonderful. And Bucky had gone all out to create the perfect, festive ambiance. His best dishes — that he’d once explained were inherited from his late parents — were set on a pristine table cloth, and he’d fashioned together a small bouquet of fall flowers and maple leaves that Kendra had picked up on her adventures around the property. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a wonderful evening. 

And the best part hadn’t even happened yet. 

It wasn’t until they’d finally gotten a hyper Kendra into bed for the night, however, that they had a moment alone. 

“You’re exhausted,” Bucky said as they descended the stairs towards the living room. 

Bucky’s voice trembled — with excitement, anticipation, and uncertainty. Steve could hear all of these, and he intended to erase any doubts in his mind without any further delay. Grabbing Bucky’s hands once they reached the bottom floor, he tugged the other man closer. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve got a little bit of life in me still. The night’s still young. And I haven’t even greeted you properly yet.” 

Before Bucky could make a sound, Steve pulled him tight against his body and pressed his lips to Bucky’s in a gentle kiss, meant to set the stage for what he wanted to discuss. A single kiss to preamble all of the others that would come later, once he’d made his intentions clear as melted snow. After he’d assured Bucky that his love for him was sure and everlasting. After any lingering doubts about how gorgeous he was, were put to rest. From the first instant their lips touched, Bucky responded in kind, holding nothing back. When he deepened the kiss, Bucky didn’t protest. Instead, his lips asked for more. Complying, Steve gave full expression to the love he held in his heart for the man. 

Steve wasn’t the only one surprised by the response. Bucky was taken aback at his own boldness, something he hadn’t been since he was a teenager. But he was unable to hold himself back from loving this man, Steve had given him his life back — and made it all the better in the process. Wanted Steve to know, in a way that spoke more eloquently than he ever could, how grateful he was. How much he trusted him. How much he loved him. 

In the end, it was Steve that broke the kiss, though he still held Bucky close. They were both breathing fast, and as he searched Steve’s face, Bucky became worried that he’d come on too strong. He’d never been this assertive around Steve. In fact, he hadn’t really been that assertive since the army. Uncertain, he lowered his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” 

“Hey now.” Steve lifted his chin with a gentle hand, forcing Bucky to be eye level with him once again. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for loving me,” he told Bucky fiercely. “Or demonstrating that love. Okay?” 

Bucky’s throat closed up with emotion. “Okay,” he responded quietly. 

“And for the record, you’re welcome to kiss me anytime. Any time at all.” Taking Bucky’s hands once more, he tugged him towards the couch, pulling him down to sit. “First, I gotta say some stuff before you take me up on that though. But your response gave me a bit of confidence in what I’ve gotta say now.” 

Angling his body towards Bucky, the grabbed both hands in his, gently squeezing the metal one, despite knowing Bucky wouldn’t feel it he knew Bucky would see the action for what it was. 

“You know my story, Buck. I told you why I came here back in July. But I haven’t told you why I wanna stay. I guess I'm kinda hoping you’ve figured that out though. But, you deserve to hear it put into words. So, I’ll do what I can to say it.” 

He stroked his thumbs over warm flesh and cool metal before catching Bucky’s eyes again. “When I arrived on your porch, I was low as anyone ever could be. I thought that everything I’d cared about had been taken from me and stomped into the mud. I was pissed off and bitter. And fast losing any hope of getting out of the darkness that had closed up around me.” 

“Then I met you. Someone who’d endured more than his own share of pain and tragedy. Someone who’d lost so much more than I had, and yet, you’d found a way to carry on. Instead of responding to tragedy with bitter resentment, you responded with compassion and kindness. Even though you’d hidden away from the world, when the world came to you, you were able to step back into the mainstream to see what you could do to help. You’ve inspired me, Bucky. You warmed a heart that had grown cold and diffused rage with simple kindness and love. You’ve allowed me to make art again.” 

He took Bucky’s jaw in one hand, his thumb tracing gently over the scar, soft as a feather. “I know you think that your scars and your arm are an impediment to romance. That they’ll scare everyone away, that no one’ll ever be able to look past these so-called flaws, to see how amazing you are beneath them. But I don’t. When I look at you, I see a man filled with compassion. I see someone as beautiful as the rising sun. I see the man I love.” 

Withdrawing his hand, Steve reached into the pocket of his blue jeans and withdrew a small, worn blue velvet box. When he flipped it open, a small round diamond sat nestled between two smaller red stones that winked back at them from a simple silver band. 

“This was my mother’s engagement ring, before that it had been Seamus’ dad’s wedding band. I wanted to give it to the person I’d spend my life with. Since Sharon liked the more modern and flashy rings, I’d never asked him if I could have it. Until last week.” 

Steve’s intensity stole Bucky’s breath from him. “I don’t have much in the way of material things, Buck. I’ll be starting over. But I can offer to you all of my love. Always. And promise to you that any time I have left will be yours. And I can promise to be the best father I possibly can be for Kendra, the kind she deserves. The kind Seamus has been for me. I didn’t expect to get a second chance at love, nor did I think it’d be found with a ready-made family. But I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life that fate brought me to you.” 

Easing off the couch, Steve dropped to a knee in front of Bucky, taking his hands again. “James Barnes, would you marry me?” 

Tears blurred Bucky’s vision as he looked at the man kneeling in front of him. The man who’d given Bucky just as much as he’d said Bucky had given him. A new life, one that he wanted to share with Steve. 

“I don’t have a left hand, Stevie,” he whispered, his voice choked. 

A smile curved at his lips. “Jerk. Is that a yes?” 

“Of course it is Punk!” 

A large smile blossomed over Steve’s face as he slipped the ring on Bucky’s right ring finger. “What do you think about a Christmas wedding?” 

“The best present I could ever want.” 

“Then let’s seal this engagement the proper way.” 

When he reached for him, Bucky fell willingly into his arms. And as his lips claimed Steve’s, he gave thanks for the love that he’d been gifted with.and for the clear, bright dawn of a new day. 

Steve, too, sent a silent thank you to the fates as he brought Bucky close. Just two years ago, he thought his life had ended. But here, in this place apart, he’d found a new life and love. A new family. The journey had been arduous, the destination often obscured by doubt and hurt and angry bitterness, but in the end that storm had diffused by the warmth that Bucky had shown him. 

Steve used to believe that miracles could happen at any time. Of how anything could happen, that an ordinary thing could become something extraordinary if one only works at it. 

That was how he viewed his relationship with Bucky. How he viewed this love that had changed his life, this time for the better. Given in a simple, heartfelt way, the gift of a wonderful man and an abandoned little girl, it had saved him from himself. 

Even if he lived to be a hundred years old, their love would always be the greatest gift he’d ever received. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bug me on tumblr at [Ironmanspanties](http://ironmanspanties.tumblr.com/) or [Mypissedoffsandwich](http://mypissedoffsandwich.tumblr.com/)


End file.
